■'id' 


II 


mm 


m  MEMOREAM 
GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


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"  '  VViiat  do  yoii  wauL  here?'" 


FILE    No.    113 


By   Emile    Gaboriau- 


Author  of  -THE  GILDED  CLIQUE,"  -IN 
PERIL  OF  HIS  LIFE,"  -THE  LEROUGE 
CASE,"    -MONSIEUR    LECOQ,"    Etc. 


1 1 1  u  s  t  r  a  t  e  d 


w  ^     ■>  5  ,  >  J    -I 


H.    M.    CALDWELL    COMPANY 

Publishers,   New  York   ^  Boston 


-  *■  *  '• 


« ■>  •  .      ' ,  •  • 


FILE  No.  113. 


1. 

In  the  Paris  journals  of  February  28,  186 — ,  there  ap-    i 
peared  the  following  intelligence  : — 

"A  daring  robbery,  committed  during  the  night  at  one 
of  our  principal  bankers',  M.  Andre  Fauvel,  has  created 
great  excitement  this  morning  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Rue  de  Provence.  The  thieves,  who  were  as  skilful 
as  they  were  daring,  succeeded  in  effecting  an  entrance 
to  the  bank,  in  forcing  the  lock  of  a  safe  that  has  hereto- 
fore been  considered  impregnable,  and  in  possessing  them- 
selves of  bank-notes,  of  the  value  of  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs.  The  police,  immediately  informed 
of  the  robbery,  displayed  their  accustomed  zeal,  and  their 
efforts  have  been  crowned  with  success.  Already,  it  is 
said,  P.  B.,  a  clerk  in  the  bank,  has  been  arrested,  and 
there  is  every  reason  to  hope  that  his  accomplices  will  be 
speedily  overtaken  by  the  hand  of  justice." 

For  four  days  this  robbery  was  the  talk  of  Paris.  Then 
public  attention  was  engrossed  by  later  and  equally  inter- 
esting events ;  an  acrobat  broke  his  leg  at  the  circus  ;  an 
actress  made  her  d3i/^  at  a  minor  theatre  ;  and  news  of 
the  28th  was  soon  forgotten. 

But  for  once  the  newspapers  were — perhaps  designedly 
— wrong,  or  at  least  inaccurate  in  their  information.  The 
sum  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  had  cer-  , 
tainly  been  stolen  from  M.  Andre  Fauvel's  bank,  but  not  / 
in  the  manner  described.  A  clerk  had  also  been  arrested 
on  suspicion,  but  no  conclusive  proof  had  been  forthcom- 
ing against  him.  This  robbery  of  unusual  importance  re- 
mained, if  not  inexplicable,  at  least  unexplained. 

The  following  are  the  facts  of  the  case  as  related  with 
scrupulous  exactitude  in  the  official  police  report. 

849323 


FILE  NO,  113. 


IT. 


1'he  banking-house  of  M.  Andr^  Fauvel,  No.  87  Rue  de 
Provence,  is  a  noted  establishment,  and,  owing  to  its  large 
staff  of  clerks,  presents  very  much  the  appearance  of  a 
government  department.  On  the  ground-floor  are  the 
offices,  with  windows  opening  on  the  street,  protected  by 
iron  bars  sufficiently  strong  and  close  together  to  discour- 
age all  attempts  at  effecting  an  entrance.  A  large  glass 
door  opens  into  a  spacious  vestibule,  where  three  or  four 
messengers  are  always  in  waiting.  On  the  right  are  the 
rooms  to  which  the  public  is  admitted,  and  from  which  a 
narrow  passage-way  leads  to  the  head  cashier's  office. 
The  offices  of  the  corresponding  clerks,  the  ledger-keeper 
and  general  accounts  are  on  the  left.  At  the  farther  end 
is  a  small  glazed  court  with  which  seven  or  eight  small 
wickets  communicate.  These  are  kept  closed,  except  only 
on  particular  days  when  a  considerable  number  of  pay- 
ments have  to  be  made,  and  then  they  are  indispensable. 
M.  Fauvel's  private  office  is  on  the  first  floor  over  the  gen- 
eral offices,  and  leads  into  his  handsome  private  apart- 
ments. This  office  communicates  directly  with  the  bank 
by  means  of  a  dark,  narrow  staircase,  which  opens  into  the 
room  occupied  by  the  head  cashier.  This  latter  room  is 
completely  proof  against  all  burglarious  attacks,  no  mat- 
ter how  ingeniously  planned  ;  indeed  it  could  almost  with- 
stand a  regular  siege,  sheeted  as  it  is  like  a  monitor.  The 
doors,  and  the  partition  in  which  the  wicket  is  where  pay- 
ments are  made,  are  covered  with  thick  iron  plates ;  and 
a  heavy  grating  protects  the  fireplace.  Fastened  in  the 
wall  by  enormous  iron  clamps  is  a  safe,  a  formidable  and 
fantastic  piece  of  furniture,  calculated  to  fill  with  envy  the 
poor  devil  who  carries  his  fortune  easily  enough  in  a 
pocket-book.  This  safe,  considered  the  masterpiece  of 
the  well-known  house  of  Becquet,  is  six  feet  in  height  and 
four  and  a  half  in  width,  and  is  made  entirely  of  wrought 
iron,  with  triple  sides,  and  divided  into  isolated  compart- 
ments in  case  of  fire. 

The  safe  is  opened  by  a  curious  little  key,  which  is, 
however,  the  least  important  part  of  the  mechanism.  Fiv^ 
"aavable  steel  buttons,  upon  which  are  engraved  all  tfi-S 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  constitute  the  real  power  of  the 


\ 


FILE  NO.  113.  5 

ingenious  lock.  To  open  the  safe  it  is  requisite,  before  in- 
serting tiie  key,  to  replace  the  letters  on  the  buttons  in 
the  same  order  in  which  they  were  when  the  door  was 
locked.  In  M.  Fauvel's  bank,  as  elsewhere,  it  was  always 
closed  with  a  word  that  was  changed  from  time  to  time. 
This  word  was  known  only  to  the  head  of  the  bank  and 
the  chief  cashier,  each  of  whom  had  a  key  to  the  safe 
In  such  a  stronghold,  a  person  might  deposit  more  dia- 
monds than  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  possessed,  and  sleep 
well  assured,  as  he  would  be,  of  their  safety.  But  one 
danger  seemed  to  threaten — that  of  forgetting  the  secret 
word  which  was  the  "  Open,  sesame  "  of  the  iron  barrier.    • 

About  half-past  nine  o'clock  on  the  mornmg  ot  tne  2^th 
of  February,  the  bank  clerks  were  all  busy  at  their  various 
desks,  when  a  middle-aged  man  of  dark  complexion  and 
military  air,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  appeared  in  the  office 
adjoining  that  of  the  head  cashier,  and  expressed  a  desire 
to  see  him. 

He  was  told  that  the  cashier  had  not  arrived,  and  his 
attention  was  called  to  a  placard  in  the  entry,  whith  stated 
that  the  cashier's  office  opened  at  ten  o'clock. 

This  reply  seemed  to  disconcert  the  new-comer.  "  I 
expected,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  cool  impertinence,  "  to 
find  some  one  here  ready  to  attend  to  my  business.  I  ex- 
plained the  matter  to  M.  Fauvel  yesterday.  I  am  Count 
Louis  de  Ciameran,  owner  of  iron-works  at  Oloron,  and  have 
come  to  receive  three  hundred  thousand  francs  deposited  in 
this  bank  by  my  late  brother,  whose  heir  I  am.  It  is  sur- 
prising that  no  instructions  have  been  given  about  it." 

Neither  the  title  of  the  noble  manufacturer  nor  his  re- 
marks appeared  to  have  the  slightest  effect  upon  the  clerks. 
"The  head  cashier  has  not  yet  arrived,"  the}'- repeated, 
"  and  we  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

"  Then  conduct  me  to  M.  Fauvel." 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitancy;  then  a  clerk,  named 
Cavaillon,  who  was  writing  by  the  window,  said  :  "  The 
chief  is  always  out  at  this  hour." 

"  I  will  call  again,  then,"  replied  M.  de  Ciameran.  And 
he  walked  out,  as  he  had  entered,  without  saying  "  Good- 
morning,"  or  even  raising  his  hat. 

"  Not  over  polite,  that  customer,"  said  little  Cavaillon ; 
"  but  he  is  unlucky,  for  here  comes  Prosper." 

Prosper  Bertomy,  head  cashier  of  Fauvel's  banking. 


6  FILE  NO.  113. 

house,  was  a  tall,  handsome  man,  of  about  thirty,  with  fail 
hair  and  large  dark-blue  eyes,  fastidiously  neat  in  appear- 
ance, and  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion.  He  would 
have  been  very  prepossessing  but  for  a  cold,  reserved  Eng- 
lish-like manner,  and  a  certain  air  of  self-sufficiency,  which 
spoiled  his  naturally  bright  and  open  countenance. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are  !  "  cried  Cavaillon.  "  Some  one  has 
just  been  inquiring  for  you." 

"  Who  t     An  ironmaster,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

*'  Well,  he  will  come  again.  Knowing  that  I  should  be 
late  this  morning,  I  made  all  my  arrangements  yesterday." 
Prosper  had  unlocked  his  office-door,  and,  as  he  finished 
speaking,  entered,  and  closed  it  behind  him. 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  clerks  ;  "  there  is  a  man 
who  never  lets  anything  disturb  him.  The  chief  has 
quarrelled  with  him  twenty  times  for  always  coming  late, 
and  his  remonstrances  have  no  more  effect  upon  him  than 
a  breath  of  wind." 

"  And  quite  right  too  ;  he  knows  he  can  get  anything  he 
wants  out  of  the  chief." 

"  Besides,  how  could  he  come  any  sooner  ?  A  man  who 
sits  up  all  night,  and  leads  a  fast  life,  doesn't  feel  inclined 
for  work  early  in  the  morning.  Did  you  notice  how  pale 
he  looked  when  he  came  in  ?  " 

''  He  must  have  been  playing  heavily  again.  Couturier 
says  he  lost  fifteen  hundred  francs  at  a  sitting  last  week." 

"  His  work  is  none  the  worse  done  for  all  that,"  inter- 
rupted Cavaillon.     "  If  you  were  in  his  place — " 

He  stopped  short.  The  door  of  the  cashier's  office  sud- 
denly opened,  and  the  cashier  appeared  before  them  with 
tottering  step,  and  a  wild,  haggard  look  on  his  ashy 
pale  face.  "  Robbed  i  "  he  gasped  out ;  "  I  have  been 
robbed ! " 

Prosper's  horrified  expression,  his  hollow  voice  and 
trembling  limbs,  so  alarmed  the  clerks  that  they  jumped 
off  their  stools  and  ran  towards  him.  He  almost  dropped 
into  their  arms ;  he  was  sick  and  faint,  and  sank  into  a 
chair.  His  companions  surrounded  him,  and  begged  him 
to  explain  himself.  "  Robbed  1 "  they  said  ;  "  where,  how, 
by  whom  ?  " 

Gradually,  Prosper  recovered  himself.  'All  the  monej 
that  was  in  the  safe/'  he  said,  "  has  been  stolen." 


FILE  NO.  113.  7 

"All?" 

"  Yes,  all ;  three  rolls,  each  containing  one  hundred 
notes  of  a  thousand  francs,  and  one  roll  of  fifty  thousand. 
The  four  rolls  were  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  paper  and  tied 
together." 

With  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  the  news  of  the  robbery 
spread  throughout  the  banking-house,  and  the  room  was 
soon  filled  with  curious  inquirers. 

"  Tell  us,  Prosper,"  said  young  Cavaillon,  "  has  the 
safe  been  broken  open  t  " 

"  No ;  it  is  just  as  I  left  it." 

"  Well,  then,  how  could — " 

"All  I  know  is  that  yesterday  T  placed  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  ni  the  safe,  and  this  morning  they 
are  gone." 

A  deep  silence  ensued,  which  was  at  length  broken  by 
an  old  clerk,  who  did  not  seem  to  share  the  general  affright. 
"  Don't  distress  yourself,  M.  Bertomy,"  he  said ;  "  no 
doubt  the  chief  has  disposed  of  the  money." 

The  unhappy  cashier  started  up  with  a  look  of  relief  ;  he 
eagerly  caught  at  the  suggestion.  "  Yes  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  It  must  be  as  you  say  ;  the  chief  must  have  taken  it." 
But,  after  thinking  a  few  minutes,  he  remarked  in  a  ton^ 
of  deep,  depression  :  "  No,  that  is  impossible.  During  the 
five  years  I  have  had  charge  of  the  safe,  M.  Fauvel  has 
never  opened  it  excepting  in  my  presence.  Whenever  he 
has  needed  money,  he  has  either  waited  until  I  came,  or 
has  sent  for  me,  rather  than  take  it  in  my  absence." 

"  Well,"  said  Cavaillon,  "  before  despairing,  let  us  as- 
certain the  truth." 

But  a  messenger  had  already  informed  M.  Fauvel  of 
the  robbery,  and  as  Cavaillon  was  about  to  go  in  search 
of  him,  he  entered  the  office. 

M.  Andre  Fauvel  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  fifty,  inclined 
to  corpulency,  of  medium  height,  with  iron-gray  hair;  and, 
like  all  hard  workers,  he  had  a  slight  stoop.  NeV  "  did 
he  by  a  single  action  belie  the  kindly  expression  or  his 
face.  He  had  a  frank  air,  a  lively,  intelligent  eye,  and 
full,  red  lips.  Born  in  the  neighborhood  of  Aix,  he  be- 
trayed, when  animated,  a  slight  Provencal  accent  that  gave 
a  peculiar  flavor  to  his  genial  humor.  The  news  of  the 
robbery  had  extremely  agitated  him,  for  his  usually  florid 
face  was  now   quite  pale.     "  What  is  this  I  hear  ?  what 


8  FILE  NO.  113. 

has  happened  ?  "  he  said  to  the  clerks,  who  respectfully 
stood  aside  when  he  entered  the  office. 

The  sound  of  M.  Fauvel's  voice  inspired  the  cashier 
with  the  factitious  energy  called  forth  by  a  great  crisis. 
The  dreaded  and  decisive  moment  had  come  ;  he  arose, 
and  advanced  towards  his  chief.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "  having, 
as  you  know,  a  payment  to  make  this  morning,  I  yesterday 
drew  from  the  Bank  of  France  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs." 

"  Why  yesterday  ?  "  interrupted  the  banker.  **  I  think 
I  have  a  hundred  times  desired  you  to  wait  until  the  day 
payment  has  to  be  made." 

*'  I  know  it,  sir,  and  I  did  wrong  to  disobey  you.  But 
the  mischief  is  done.  Yesterday  evening  I  locked  the 
money  up  :  it  has  disappeared,  and  yet  the  safe  has  not 
been  broken  open." 

"  You  must  be  mad  !  "  exclaimed  M.  Fauvel ;  "  you  are 
dreaming ! " 

These  few  words  crushed  all  hope ;  but  the  horror  of 
the  situation  imparted  to  Prosper,  not  the  coolness  of  a 
steadied  resolution,  but  that  sort  of  stupid,  stolid  indiffer- 
ence which  often  results  from  unexpected  catastrophes. 
It  was  with  apparent  calmness  that  he  replied,  "  I  am  not 
mad;  neither,  unfortunately,  am  I  dreaming:  I  am  sim- 
ply telling  the  truth." 

This  tranquillity  at  such  a  moment  appeared  to  exasper- 
ate M.  Fauvel.  He  seized  Prosper  by  the  arm,  and  shook 
him  roughly.  "  Speak  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  speak  !  who 
can  have  opened  the  safe  ? " 

"I  cannot  say." 

*'  No  one  but  you  and  I  know  the  secret  word.  No  one 
but  you  and  I  possess  keys." 

This  Was  a  formal  accusation  ;  at  least,  all  the  auditors 
present  so  understood  it.  Yet  Prosper's  strange  calmness 
never  left  him  for  an  instant.  He  quietly  released  him- 
self from  M.  Fauvel's  grasp,  and  slowly  said :  "  In  other 
words,  sir,  it  is  only  I  who  could  have  taken  this  money — " 

"  Miserable  man,"  exclaimed  M.  Fauvel. 

Prosper  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and,  looking 
M.  Fauvel  full  in  the  face,  added  :  "  Or  you  !  " 

The  banker  made  a  threatening  gesture ;  and  there  is 
no  knowing  what  would  have  happened  if  he  had  r\(X  been 
interrupted  by  loud  and  angry  voices  in  the  hall.     A  man 


FILE  NO.  113.  I 

insisted  upon  entering  despite  the  protestations  of  the 
messengers,  and  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way  in.  It  was 
M.  de  Clameran. 

The  clerks  stood  looking  on,  bewildered  and  inert. 
The  silence  was  profound  and  solemn.  It  was  easy  to 
perceive  that  some  terrible  issue  was  being  anxiously 
weighed  by  all  these  men. 

"  The  ironmaster  did  not  appear  to  observe  anything 
unusual.  He  advanced,  and  without  lifting  his  hat  said, 
in  his  former  impertinent  tone,  "  It  is  after  ten  o'clock, 
gentlemen." 

No  one  answered  ;  and  M.  de  Clameran  was  about  to 
continue,  when  turning  round,  he  for  the  first  time  saw 
the  banker,  and  walking  up  to  him  exclaimed,  "  Well,  sir, 
I,  congratulate  myself  upon  finding  you  in  at  last.  I  have 
been  here  once  before  this  morning,  and  found  the 
cashier's  office  not  opened,  the  cashier  not  arrived,  and 
you  absent." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  I  was  in  my  office." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  was  told  you  were  out ;  that  gentleman 
there  assured  me  of  the  fact."  And  the  ironmaster 
pointed  out  Cavaillon.  "  However,  that  is  of  little  impor- 
tance," he  went  on  to  say.  "  I  return,  and  this  time  not 
only  the  cashier's  office  is  closed,  but  I  am  refused  admit- 
tance to  the  banking-house,  and  find  myself  compelled  to 
force  my  way  in.  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  whether  I 
can  have  my  money." 

M.  Fauvel's  pale  face  turned  red  with  anger  as  he  lis- 
tened to  this  harangue;  yet  he  controlled  himself.  "I 
should  be  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
*'  for  a  short  delay." 

"  I  thought  you  told  me — " 

"  Yes,  yesterday.  But  this  morning — this  very  instant 
— I  find  I  have  been  robbed  of  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs." 

M.  de  Clameran  bowed  ironically,  and  asked  :  "  Shall 
I  have  to  wait  long  ?  " 

"  Long  enough  for  me  to  send  to  the  Bank  of 
France." 

Then,  turning  his  back  on  the  iron-founder,  M,  Fauvel 
said  to  his  cashier :  "  Write  a  check  and  send  to  the 
Bank  at  once  to  draw  out  all  the  available  money.  Let 
the  messenger  take  a  cab."     Prosper  remained   motion* 


lo     '  FILE  NO.  113. 

less.     "  Do  you  hear  me  ?  "  inquired  the  banker  in  an  an^ 
gry  voice. 

The  cashier  started  ;  he  seemed  as  if  awakening  from  a 
dream.  "It  is  useless  to  send,"  he  said  in  a  slow,  meas-' 
ured  tone  :  "  this  gentleman  requires  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  and  there  is  less  than  one  hundred  thousand 
at  the  bank." 

M.  de  Clameran  appeared  to  expect  this  answer,  for 
he  muttered  :  "  Of  course."  Although  he  only  pronounced 
these  words,  his  voice,  his  manner,  his  countenance  clearly 
said  :  ''  This  comedy  is  well  acted  ;  but  nevertheless  it  is 
a  comedy,  and  I  don't  intend  to  be  duped  by  it." 

Alas  !  After  Prosper's  answer,  and  the  ironmaster's 
coarsely  expressed  opinion,  the  clerks  knew  not  what  to 
think.  The  fact  was,  that  Paris  had  just  been  startled  by 
several  financial  crashes.  The  thirst  for  speculation  had 
caused  the  oldest  and  staunchest  houses  to  totter.  Men 
of  the  most  unimpeachable  honor  had  to  sacrifice  their 
pride,  and  go  from  door  to  door  imploring  aid.  Credit, 
tnat  rare  bird  of  security  and  peace,  rested  with  none,  but 
stood,  with  upraised  wings,  ready  to  fly  off  at  the  first  sug- 
gestion of  suspicion. 

This  idea  of  a  comedy  arranged  beforehand  between 
the  banker  and  his  cashier  might  therefore  readily  occur 
to  the  minds  of  people  who,  if  not  suspicious,  were  at 
least  aware  of  all  the  expedients  resorted  to  by  specula- 
tors in  order  to  gain  time,  which  with  them  often  meant 
salvation. 

M.  Fauvel  had  had  too  much  knowledge  of  mankind 
not  to  instantly  divine  the  impression  produced  by  Pros- 
per's answer ;  he  read  the  most  mortifying  doubt  on  the 
faces  around  him.  "  Oh  !  don't  be  alarmed,  sir,"  said  he 
to  M.  de  Clameran,  "  this  house  has  other  resources. 
Be  kind  enough  to  await  my  return." 

He  left  the  office,  went  up  to  his  private  room,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  returned,  holding  in  his  hand  a  letter  and  a 
bundle  of  securities.  "  Here,  quick.  Couturier  !  "  he  said 
to  one  of  his  clerks,  "  take  my  carriage,  which  is  waiting 
at  the  door,  and  go  with  this  gentleman  to  M.  de  Roths- 
child. Hand  the  latter  this  letter  and  these  securities', 
in  exchange,  you  will  receive  three  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which  give  to  M.  de  Clameran." 

The  ironmaster  was  visibly  disappointed  ;  he  seemed 


FILE  A^a  113.  II 

desirous  of  apologizing  for  his  rudeness.  "  I  assure 
you,"  said  he  to  M.  Fauvel,  "  that  I  had  no  intention  of 
giving  offence.  Our  relations,  for  some  years,  have  b^en 
such  that  I  hope — " 

"  Enough,  sir,"  interrupted  tl^e  banker,  "  I  desire  no 
apologies.  In  business,  friendship  counts  for  nothing.  I 
owe  you  money  :  I  am  not  ready  to  pay  :  you  are  press- 
ing :  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  demand  what  is  your  own. 
Accompany  my  messenger  :  he  will  pay  you  your  money." 
Then  he  turned  to  his  clerks,  who  stood  curiously  gazing 
on,  and  said:  "  As  for  you,  gentlemen,  be  good  enough  to 
resume  your  places  at  your  desks." 

In  an  instant  the  office  was  cleared  of  every  one  ex- 
cepting the  clerks  who  habitually  occupied  it ;  and  they 
resumed  their  seats  at  their  desks  with  their  noses  almost 
touching  the  paper  before  them,  as  if  they  \vere  too  en- 
grossed in  their  work  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Still  excited  by  the  events  which  had  rapidly  succeeded 
each  other,  M.  Andre  Fauvel  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  with  quick,  nervous  steps,  occasionally  uttering  some 
half-stifled  exclamation.  Prosper  had  remained  leaning 
against  the  partition,  with  pale  face  and  fixed  eyes,  looking 
as  if  he  had  lost  the  faculty  of  thinking  or  of  acting.  Pres- 
ently the  banker,  after  a  long  silence,  stopped  short  be- 
fore him  ;  he  had  determined  upon  the  line  of  conduct  he 
would  pursue.  "  We  must  have  an  explanation,"  he  said. 
"  Go  into  your  office." 

The  cashier  mechanically  obeyed  ;  and  his  chief  fol- 
lowed him,  taking  the  precaution  to  close  the  door  after 
them.  The  room  bore  no  evidences  of  a  successful  bur- 
glary. Everything  was  in  perfect  order ;  not  even  a  paper 
was  disturbed.  The  safe  was  open,  and  on  the  top  shelf 
lay  several  rouleaus  of  gold,  overlooked  or  disdained  by 
the  thieves. 

M.  Fauvel,  without  troubling  himself  to  examine  any- 
thing, took  a  seat,  and  ordered  his  cashier  to  do  the  same. 
He  had  quite  recovered  his  equanimity,  and  his  count- 
enance wore  its  usual  kind  expression.  "  Now  that  we 
are  alone,  Prosper,"  h&  said,  "  have  vou  nothing  to  tell 
me  ?  " 

The  cashier  started,  as  if  surprised  at  the  question. 
"  Nothing,  sir,  that  I  iiava  not  already  told  you,"  he  re- 
plied 


12  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  What !  nothing  ?  Do  you  persist  in  maintaining  an 
attitude  so  absurd  and  ridiculous  that  no  one  can  possibly 
give  you  credence  ?  It  is  sheer  folly  ?  Confide  in  me  : 
it  is  your  only  chance  of  salvation.  I  am  your  employer. 
it  is  true  ;  but  I  am  before  and  above  all  your  friend 
■ — your  best  and  truest  friend.  I  cannot  forget  that  in 
this  very  room,  fifteen  years  ago,  you  were  intrusted  to  me 
by  your  father ;  and  ever  since  that  day  I  have  had  cause 
to  congratulate  myself  on  possessing  so  faithful  and  ef- 
ficient  a  clerk.  Yes,  it  is  fifteen  years  since  you  came  to 
me.  I  was  then  just  commencing  the  foundation  of  my 
fortune.  You  have  seen  it  gradually  grow,  step  by  step, 
from  almost  nothing  to  its  present  magnitude.  As  my 
wealth  increased,  I  endeavored  to  better  your  condition  ; 
yoU;  who,  although  so  young,  are  the  oldest  of  my  clerks. 
At  each  augmentation  of  my  fortune  I  increased  your 
salary." 

Never  had  the  cashier  heard  M.  Fauvel  express  himself 
in  so  feeling  and  paternal  a  manner.  Prosper  was  silent 
with  astonishment. 

"  Answer,"  pursued  M.  Fauvel,  "  have  I  not  always  been 
like  a  father  to  you  ?  From  the  first  day,  my  house  has 
been  open  to  you ;  you  were  treated  as  a  member  of  my 
family ;  my  niece  Madeleine  and  my  sons  looked  upon  you 
as  a  brother.  But  you  grew  weary  of  this  peaceful  life. 
One  day,  a  year  ago,  you  suddenly  began  to  shun  us ;  and 
since  then — " 

The  memories  of  the  past  thus  called  up  by  the  banker 
seemed  too  much  for  the  unhappy  cashier;  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  A  man  can  confide  everything  to  his  father,"  resumed 
M.  Fauvel,  also  deeply  affected.  "  Fear  nothing.  A 
father  not  only  pardons,  he  forgets.  Do  I  not  know  the 
temptations  that  beset  a  young  man  in  a  city  like  Paris  ? 
There  are  some  inordinate  desires  before  which  the  firmest 
principles  will  give  way,  and  which  so  pervert  our  moral 
sense  as  to  render  us  incapable  of  judging  between  right 
and  wrong.     Speak,  Prosper,  speak  !  " 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say  ? " 

"  The  truth.  When  an  honorable  man  yields,  in  an 
hour  of  weakness,  to  temptation,  his  first  step  towards 
atonement  is  confession,     Say  to  me,  Yes,  I  have  bee» 


FILE  NO.  113.  13 

tempted,  dazzled  :  the  sight  of  these  piles  of  gold  turned 
my  brain.     I  am  young  :  I  have  passions." 

"  I !  "  murmured  Prosper,  "  I !  " 

"Poor  boy,"  said  the  banker  sadly;  "do  you  think  I 
am  ignorant  of  the  life  you  have  been  leading  since  you 
left  my  roof  a  year  ago  ?  Can  you  not  understand  that 
all  j'our  fellow-clerks  are  jealous  of  you  ?  that  they  do  not 
forgive  you  for  earning  twelve  thousand  francs  a  year  ? 
Never  have  you  committed  a  piece  of  folly  without  my 
being  immediately  informed  of  it  by  an  anonymous  letter. 
I  oould  tell  you  the  exact  number  of  nights  you  have  spent 
at  the  gaming-table,  and  the  money  you  have  squandered. 
01.1,  envy  has  keen  eyes  and  a  quick  ear !  I  have  great 
contempt  for  these  cowardly  denunciations,  but  was  forced, 
not  only  to  heed  them,  but  to  make  inquiries  myself.  It 
is  cvnly  proper  that  I  should  know  what  sort  of  a  life  is 
led  by  the  man  to  whom  I  intrust  my  fortune  and  my 
honor." 

Prosper  seemed  about  to  protest  against  this  last  speech. 

"  Yes,  my  honor,"  insisted  M,  Fauvel,  in  a  voice  that 
r2  sense  of  humiliation  made  unsteady ;  "  yes,  my  credit, 
which  might  have  been  compromised  to-day  by  this  M.  de 
Clameran.  Do  you  know  how  much  I  shall  lose  by  pay- 
ing him  this  money?  And  suppose  I  had  not  had  the  se- 
curities which  I  have  sacrificed  ?  you  did  not  know  I  pos- 
sessed them." 

Tht  banker  paused,  as  if  hoping  for  a  confession,  which, 
however,  did  not  come. 

"  Come,  Prosper,  have  courage,  be  frank !  I  will  go 
up  stairs.  You  will  look  again  in  the  safe  ;  I  am  sure  that 
in  youi  agitation  you  did  not  search  it  thoroughly.  This 
evenin^f  I  will  return,  and  I  am  confident  that,  during  the 
day,  you  will  have  found,  if  not  the  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs,  at  least  the  greater  portion  of  the 
amount ;  and  to-morrow  neither  you  nor  I  will  remembei 
anything  about  this  false  alarm." 

M.  Fauvel  had  risen,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room 
when  PixDsper  arose,  and  seized  him  by  the  arm.  "  Your 
generosity  is  useless,  sir,"  he  said  bitterly ;  "  having  taken 
nothing,  I  can  restore  nothing.  I  have  made  a  scrupulous 
search ;  the  bank-notes  have  been  stolen." 

"  But  by  whom,  poor  fool  1  by  whom  ?  " 

**  By  all  that  is  sacred,  I  swear  that  it  was  not  by  me." 


14  PILE  NO.  113. 

The  banker's  face  turned  crimson.  "  Miserable  wretch  1 " 
cried  he,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  took  the  money  ?  " 

Prosper  bowed  his  head,  and  did  not  answer. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  thus,  then,"  said  M.  Fauvel,  unable  to  con- 
tain himself  any  longer,  "you  dare —  Then  between  you 
and  me,  M.  Prosper  Bertomy,  justice  shall  decide.  God 
is  my  witness  that  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  save  you. 
You  will  have  yourself  to  thank  for  what  follows.  I  have 
sent  for  the  commissary  of  police ;  he  must  be  waiting  ir 
my  room.     Shall  I  call  him  down  ?  " 

Prosper,  with  the  fearful  resignation  of  a  man  who  en- 
tirely abandons  himself,  replied  in  a  stifled  voice :  "  Do 
as  you  will." 

The  banker  was  near  the  door,  which  he  opened,  and, 
after  giving  the  cashier  a  last  searching  look,  called  to  an 
oflice-boy :  "  Anselme,  bid  the  commissary  of  police  to 
step  down." 

III. 

If  there  is  one  man  in  the  world  whom  no  event  should 
move -or  surprise,  always  on  his  guard  against  deceptive 
appearances,  capable  of  admitting  everything  and  explain- 
ing everything,  it  certainly  is  a  Parisian  commissary  of 
police. 

While  the  judge,  from  his  lofty  seat,  applies  the  Code 
to  the  facts  submitted  to  him,  the  commissary  of  police 
observes  and  watches  all  the  odious  circumstances  the  law 
cannot  reach.  He  is,  in  spite  of  himself,  the  confidant  of 
disgraceful  details,  domestic  crimes,  and  tolerated  vices. 

If,  when  he  entered  upon  his  office,  he  had  any  illusions, 
before  the  end  of  a  year  they  would  all  be  dissipated.  If 
he  does  not  absolutely  despise  the  human  race,  it  is  be- 
cause often,  side  by  side  with  abominations  indulged  in 
with  impunity,  he  discovers  sublime  generosities  which 
remain  unrewarded.  He  sees  impudent  villains  filching 
the  public  respect ;  and  he  consoles  himself  by  thinking 
of  the  modest,  obscure  heroes  whom  he  has  also  encount- 
ered. 

So  often  have  his  forecasts  been  deceived,  that  he  has 
reached  a  state  of  complete  scepticism.  He  believes  in 
nothmg,  neither  in  evil  nor  in  absolute  good ;  not  more  in 
virtue  than  in  vice.     His   experience  has  forced  him  to 


FILE  NO.  113.  15 

come  to  the  drear  conclusion,  that  not  men,  but  events, 
are  worth  considering. 

The  commissary  sent  for  by  M.  Fauvel  soon  made  his 
appearance.  It  was  with  a  cahn  air,  if  not  one  of  perfect 
indifference,  that  he  entered  the  office.  He  was  followed 
by  a  short  man  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  black,  which  was 
slightly  relieved  by  a  ruffled  collar. 

The  banker,  scarcely  bowing,  said  to  the  commissary 
"Doubtless,  sir,  you  have  been  apprised  of  the  painf:i. 
circumstance  which  compels  me  to  have  recourse  to  you* 
assistance  ? " 

"  It  is  about  a  robbery,  I  believe." 

"  Yes ;  an  infamous  and  mysterious  robbery  committed 
in  this  office,  from  the  safe  you  see  open  there,  of  which 
my  cashier"  (he  pointed  to  Prosper)  "  alone  possesses  the 
key  and  the  word." 

This  declaration  seemed  to  arouse  the  unfortunate  cash- 
ier from  his  dull  stupor.  "  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said  to  the 
commissary  in  a  low  tone.  "  My  chief  also  has  the  word 
and  the  key." 

"  Of  course,  that  is  understood." 

The  commissary  at  once  drew  his  own  conclusions. 
Evidently  these  two  men  accused  each  other.  From  their 
own  statements,  one  or  the  other  was  guilty.  One  was 
the  head  of  an  important  bank  ;  the  other  was  simply  the 
cashier.  One  was  the  chief  ;  the  other  the  clerk.  But  the 
commissary  of  police  was  too  well  skilled  in  concealing 
his  impressions  to  betray  his  thoughts  by  any  visible  sign. 
Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved.  Yet  he  became  more 
grave,  and  alternately  watched  the  cashier  and  M,  Fauvel, 
as  if  trying  to  draw  some  satisfactory  conclusion  from 
their  behavior. 

Prosper  was  very  pale  and  dejected.  He  had  dropped 
into  a  seat,  and  his  arms  hung  inert  on  either  side  of  the 
chair.  The  banker,  on  the  contrary,  remained  standing 
with  flashing  eyes  and  crimson  face,  expressing  himself 
with  extraordinary  vehemence.  "The  importance  of  ths 
theft  is  immense,"  continued  he;  "there  is  missing  :i 
fortune,  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  !  This 
robbery  might  have  had  the  most  disastrous  consequences. 
In  times  like  these,  the  want  of  this  sum  might  compro- 
mise the  credit  of  the  wealthiest  banking-house  in  Paris.^ 

"  I  believe  so,  if  bills  were  falling  due." 


i6  FILE  NO.  i\% 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  this  very  day  a  heavy  payment  to 
make." 

*'  Ah,  really  !  "  There  was  no  mistaking  the  commis- 
sary's tone ;  a  suspicion,  the  first,  had  evidently  entered 
his  mind. 

The  banker  understood  it  ;  he  started,  and  added 
quickly  :  "  I  met  my  engagements,  but  at  the  cost  of  a  dis^ 
agreeable  sacrifice.  I  ought  to  add  further,  that  if  my  or- 
ders had  been  obeyed,  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand francs  would  not  have  been  here." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  desire  never  to  have  large  sums  of  money  in  my 
house  over  night.  My  cashier  had  positive  orders  invaria- 
bly to  wait  until  the  last  moment  before  drawing  money 
from  the  Bank  of  France.  I  forbade  him,  above  all,  to 
leave  large  sums  of  money  in  the  safe  over  night." 

"  You  hear  this  1 "  said  the  commissary  to  Prosper 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  cashier,  ''  M.  Fauvel's  statement 
is  quite  correct." 

After  this  explanation,  the  suspicions  of  the  comm.issary. 
instead  of  being  strengthened,  were  dissipated.  "  Well," 
he  said,  "  a  robbery  has  been  perpetrated,  but  by  whom  ? 
Did  the  robber  enter  from  without  1 " 

The  banker  hesitated  a  moment.  *'  I  think  not,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"  And  I  am  certain  he  did  not,"  said  Prosper. 

The  commissary  expected  and  was  prepared  for  these 
answers  ;  but  it  did  not  suit  his  purpose  to  follow  them 
up  immediately.  "  However,"  said  he,  "  we  must  make 
ourselves  sure  of  it."  Turning  towards  his  companion, — 
*'  M.  Fanferlot,"  he  said,  "  go  and  see  if  you  can  discover 
any  traces  that  may  have  escaped  the  attention  of  these 
gentlemen." 

M.  Fanferlot,  nicknamed  "the  squirrel,"  was  indebted 
to  his  prodigious  agility  for  his  title,  of  which  he  was  not 
a  little  proud.  Slim  and  insignificant  in  appearance,  in 
spite  of  his  iron  muscles,  he  might  be  taken  for  the  under 
clerk  of  a  bailiff  as  he  walked  along  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin  in  his  thin  black  overcoat.  He  had  one  of  those 
faces  that  impress  one  disagreeably — an  odiously  turned- 
up  nose,  thin  lips^  and  little  restless  black  eyes. 

Fanferlot,  who  had  been  in  the  detective  force  for  five 
years,  burned  to  distinguish  himself.     He  was  ambitious. 


FILE  NO.  113.  17 

Alas  \  he  was  unsuccessful,  lacking  opportunity — or  genius. 
Already,  before  the  commissary  spoke  to  him,  he  had  fer- 
reted everywhere  ;  studied  the  doors,  sounded  the  parti- 
tions, examined  the  wicket,  and  stirred  up  the  ashes  in  the 
grate.  "  I  cannot  imagine,"  said  he,  "  how  a  stranger 
could  have  effected  an  entrance  here."  He  walked  round 
the  office.  "  Is  this  door  closed  at  night  ? "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  It  is  always  locked." 

"  And  who  keeps  the  key  ?  " 

'•  The  watchman,"  said  Prosper,  "  to  whom  I  always  gave 
it  in  charge  before  leaving  the  bank." 

"  And  who,"  said  M.  Fauvel,  ''  sleeps  in  the  outer  room 
on  a  folding-bedstead,  which  he  unfolds  at  night,  ana  folds 
up  in  the  morning." 

**  Is  he  here  now  ?  "  inquired  the  commissary. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  banker,  and  he  opened  the  door, 
and  called  :  "  Anselme  !  " 

This  man  was  the  favorite  servant  of  M.  Fauvel,  and 
had  lived  with  him  for  ten  years.  He  knew  that  he  would 
not  be  suspected  ;  but  the  idea  of  being  connected  in  any 
way  with  a  robbery  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  entered 
the  room  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"  Did  you  sleep  in  the  next  room  last  night  ?  "  asked 
the  commissary. 

"Yes,  sir,  as  usual." 

"  At  what  hour  did  you  go  to  bed  .'*  " 

"  About  half-past  ten  ;  I  had  spent  the  evening  at  a  cafd 
near  by,  with  master's  valet." 

"  Did  you  hear  no  noise  during  the  night  ?  " 

"  Not  a  sound  ;  and  still  I  sleep  so  lightly,  that  if  M. 
Fauvel  comes  down  to  the  cashier's  office  when  I  am 
asleep,  I  am  instantly  aroused  by  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps." 

"  M.  Fauvel  often  comes  to  the  cashier's  office  at  night, 
does  he  "i " 

"  No  sir  ;  very  seldom." 

"  Did  he  come  last  night  .^  " 

"  No  sir,  I  am  very  certain  he  did  not :  for  I  was  kept 
awake  nearly  all  night  by  the  strong  coffee  I  had  drunk 
with  the  valet." 

"  That  will  do  ;  you  can  retire,"  said  the  commissary. 

When  Anselme  had  left  the  room,  Fanferlot  resumed 


ffi  FILE  NO.  113. 

his  search.  He  opened  the  door  of  the  private  staircase. 
"  Where  do  these  stairs  lead  to  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  To  my  private  office,"  replied  M.  Fauvel. 

"  Is  not  that  the  room  whither  I  was  conducted  whea 
I  first  arrived  ?  '  inquired  the  commissary. 

"  The  same." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  said  Fanferlot,  "  and  ex- 
amine the  entrance  to  it." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,"  said  M.  Fauvel  eagerly  ;  "  follow 
me,  gentlemen.     And  you  too,  Prosper." 

M.  Fauvel's  private  office  consisted  of  two  rooms,  the 
waiiing-room,  sumptuously  furnished  and  elaborately  dec- 
orated, and  the  inner  one  where  he  transacted  business. 
The  furniture  in  this  room  was  composed  of  a  large  office- 
table,  several  leather-covered  chairs,  and  on  either  side 
of  the  fireplace  a  secretary  and  a  bookshelf. 

These  two  rooms  had  only  three  doors ;  one  opened  on 
the  private  staircase,  another  into  the  banker's  bedroom, 
and  the  third  on  to  the  landing.  It  was  through  this  lat- 
ter door  that  the  banker's  clients  and  visitors  were  ad- 
mitted. 

M.  Fanferlot  examined  the  room  at  a  glance.  He 
seemed  puzzled,  like  a  man  who  had  flattered  himself 
with  the  hope  of  discovering  some  clew  and  had  found 
nothing.  "  Let  us  see  the  other  side,"  he  said.  He 
passed  into  the  waiting-room,  followed  by  the  banker  and 
the  commissary  of  police. 

Prosper  remained  behind.  Despite  the  confused  state 
of  his  mind,  he  could  not  but  notice  that  the  situation  was 
for  him  momentarily  becoming  more  serious.  He  had  de- 
manded and  accepted  the  contest  with  his  chief;  the 
struggle  had  commenced,  and  now  it  no  longer  depended 
upon  his  own  will  to  arrest  the  consequences  of  his  action. 
They  were  about  to  engage  In  a  bitter  conflict,  utilizing  all 
weapons,  until  one  of  the  two  should  succumb,  the  loss  of 
honor  being  the  price  of  defeat. 

In  the  eyes  of  justice  who  would  be  the  innocent  man  ? 
Alas  1  the  unfortunate  cashier  saw  only  too  clearly  that 
the  chances  were  terribly  unequal,  and  he  was  overwhelmed 
with  the  sense  of  his  own  inferiority.  Never  had  he  thought 
that  his  chief  would  carry  out  his  threats  ;  for  in  a  contest 
of  this  nature,  M.  Fauvel  would  have  as  much  at  stake  as 
his  cashier,  and  more  to  lose. 


FILE  NO.  113.  19 

Prosper  was  sitting  near  the  fireplace,  absorbed  in  the 
most  gloomy  forebodings,  when  the  banker's  bedroom- 
door  suddenly  opened,  and  a  lovely  girl  appeared  upon 
the  threshold.  She  was  tall  and  slender ;  a  loose  morning 
robe,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  simple  black  ribbon,  be- 
trayed to  advantage  the  graceful  elegance  of  her  figure. 
Her  dark  eyes  were  large  and  soft ;  her  complexion  had 
the  creamy  pallor  of  a  white  camellia ;  and  her  beautiuil 
black  hair,  carelessly  held  together  by  a  tortoiseshell  comb, 
fell  in  a  profusion  of  soft  curls  upon  her  finely  shaped 
neck.  She  was  Madeleine,  M.  Fauvel's  niece,  of  whom 
he  had  spoken  not  long  before.  Seeing  Prosper  in  the 
room,  where  probably  she  had  expected  to  find  her  uncle 
alone,  she  could  not  refrain  from  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise:  "Ah!" 

Prosper  started  up  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric 
shock.  His  eyes,  a  moment  before  so  dull  and  heavy, 
now  sparkled  with  jo}^,  as  if  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
an  angel  of  hope.     "  Madeleine  !  "  he  cried,  "  Madeleine  !  " 

The  young  girl  was  blushing  crimson.  She  seemed 
about  to  hastily  retreat,  and  stepped  back ;  but.  Prosper 
having  advanced  tow^ards  her,  she  was  overcome  by  a 
sentiment  stronger  than  her  will,  and  extended  her  hand, 
which  he  took  and  pressed  with  great  respect.  They  stood 
thus  face  to  face,  but  with  averted  looks,  as  if  they  dared 
not  let  their  eyes  meet  for  fear  of  betraying  their  feelings ; 
having  much  to  say,  and  not  know^ing  how  to  begin,  they 
stood  silent.  Finally  Madeleine  murmured  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice  :  "  You,  Prosper — you  !  " 

These  words  broke  the  spell.  The  cashier  dropped  the 
white  hand  which  he  held,  and  answ^ered  bitterly:  "Yes, 
I  am  Prosper,  the  companion  of  your  childhood — suspected, 
accused  of  the  most  disgraceful  theft ;  Prosper,  whom 
your  uncle  has  just  delivered  up  to  justice,  and  who,  be- 
fore the  day  has  gone  by,  will  be  arrested  and  thrown  into 
prison." 

Madeleine,  with  a  terrified  gesture,  cried  in  a  tone  of 
anguish  :  "  Good  heavens !  Prosper,  what  are  you  say- 
ing?" 

"  What !  mademoiselle,  do  you  not  know  what  has 
happened  ?     Have  not  your  aunt  and  cousins  told  you  ?  " 

"  They  have  told  me  nothing.  I  have  scarcely  seen 
my  cousins  this  morning ;  and  my  aunt  is  so  ill  that  I  feU 


20  FILE  NO.  113. 

uneasy,  and  came  to  tell  my  uncle.  But  for  heaven's  sake, 
speak :  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  distress." 

Prosper  hesitated.  Perhaps  it  occurred  to  him  to  open 
his  heart  to  Madeleine,  of  revealing  to  her  his  most  secret 
thoughts.  A  remembrance  of  the  past  checked  his  con- 
fidence. He  sadly  shook  his  head,  and  replied :  "  Thanks, 
mademoiselle,  for  this  proof  of  interest,  the  last,  doubtless, 
that  I  shall  ever  receive  from  you  ;  but  allow  me,  by  being 
silent,  to  spare  you  distress,  and  myself  the  mortification 
of  blushing  before  you." 

Madeleine  interrupted  him  imperiously  :  "  I  insist  upon 
knowing,"  she  said. 

"  Alas !  mademoiselle,"  answered  Prosper,  "  you  will 
only  too  soon  learn  my  misfortune  and  disgrace ;  then, 
yes  then,  you  will  applaud  yourself  for  what  you  have  done." 

She  became  more  urgent ;  instead  of  commanding  she 
entreated ;  but  Prosper  was  inflexible.  "  Your  uncle  is 
in  the  adjoining  room,  with  the  commissary  of  police  and 
a  detective,"  said  he.  "  They  will  soon  return.  I  entreat 
you  to  retire  that  they  may  not  find  you  here."  As  he 
spoke  he  gently  pushed  her  through  the  door,  and  closed 
it  upon  her. 

It  was  time,  for  the  next  moment  the  commissary  and 
M.  Fauvel  entered.  They  had  visited  the  main  entrance 
and  the  waiting-room,  and  had  heard  nothing  of  what  had 
passed.  But  Fanferlot  had  heard  for  them.  This  ex- 
cellent bloodhound  had  not  lost  sight  of  the  cashier.  He 
said  to  himself,  "  Now  that  my  young  gentleman  believeg 
himself  to  be  alone,  his  face  will  betray  him.  I  shall  de- 
tect a  smile  or  a  gesture  that  will  enlighten  me." 

Leaving  M.  Fauvel  and  the  commissary  to  pursue  their 
investigations,  he  posted  himself  to  watch.  He  saw  the 
door  open,  and  Madeleine  appear  upon  the  threshold ;  he 
lost  not  a  single  word  or  gesture  of  the  rapid  scene  which 
had  passed.  It  mattered  little  that  every  word  of  this 
scene  was  an  enigma.  M.  Fanferlot  was  skilful  enough 
to  complete  the  sentences  he  did  not  understand.  As 
yet  he  only  had  a  suspicion  ;  but  a  mere  suspicion  is  bet- 
than  nothing ;  it  is  a  point  to  start  from.  So  ready  was 
he  in  building  a  plan  upon  the  slightest  incident,  that  he 
thought  he  saw  in  the  past  of  these  people,  who  were  utter 
strangers  to  him,  glimpses  of  a  domestic  drama.  If  the 
commissary  of  police  is  a  sceptic,  the  detective  has  faith, 


/ 


FILE  NO.  113.  21 

he  believes  in  evil.  "  I  understand  the  case  now,"  said  he 
to  himself.  "  This  man  loves  the  young  lady,  who  is  really 
very  pretty;  and,  as  he  is  handsome,!  suppose  his  love  is 
reciprocated.  This  love  affair  vexes  the  banker,  who,  not 
knowing  how  to  get  rid  of  the  importunate  lover  by  fair  means 
has  to  resort  to  foul,  and  plans  this  imaginary  robbery, 
which  is  very  ingenious." 

Thus,  to  M.  Fanferlot's  mind,  the  banker  had  simply 
robbed  himself,  and  the  innocent  cashier  was  the  victim 
of  a  vile  machination.  But  this  conviction  was  at  present 
of  little  service  to  Prosper.  Fanferlot,  the  ambitious  man, 
who  had  determined  to  obtain  renown  in  his  profession, 
decided  to  keep  his  conjectures  to  himself.  "  I  will  let  the 
others  go  their  way,  and  I'll  go  mine,"  he  said.  "When, 
by  dint  of  close  watching  and  patient  investigation,  I  shall 
have  collected  proof  sufficient  to  insure  certain  conviction, 
I  will  unmask  the  scoundrel." 

He  was  radiant.  He  had  at  last  found  the  crime,  so 
long  looked  for,  which  would  make  him  celebrated.  Nothing 
was  wanting,  neither  the  odious  circumstances,  nor  the 
mystery,  nor  even  the  romantic  and  sentimental  element 
represented  by  Prosper  and  Madeleine,  Success  seemed 
difficult,  almost  impossible  ;  but  Fanferlot,  "the  squirrel," 
had  great  confidence  in  his  own  genius  for  investiga- 
tion. 

Meanwhile,  the  search  up  stairs  was  completed,  and 
every  one  had  returned  to  Prosper's  office.  The  commis- 
sary, who  had  seemed  so  calm  when  he  first  came,  now 
looked  grave  and  perplexed.  The  moment  for  taking  a 
decisive  part  had  come,  yet  it  was  evident  that  he  hesitated. 
^'  You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  began,  "  our  search  has  only 
confirmed  our  first  opinion."  M.  Fauvel  and  Prosper 
bowed  assentingly. 

"  And  what  do  you  think,  M.  Fanferlot  ? "  continued 
the  commissary.  Fanferlot  did  not  answer.  Occupied  in 
studying  the  lock  of  the  safe,  he  manifested  signs  of  a 
lively  surprise.  Evidently  he  had  just  made  an  important 
discovery.  M.  Fauvel,  Prosper,  and  the  commissary  rose, 
and  surrounded  him. 

"  Have  you  discovered  any  trace  ?  "  asked  the  banker 
eagerly. 

Fanferlot  turned  round  with  a  vexed  air.  He  re- 
proached himself  for  not  having  concealed    his    imprea- 


22  FILE  NO.  \\y 

sions.  "  Oh ! "  said  he  carelessly,  "  I  have  discovered 
nothing  of  importance." 

"  But  we  should  like  to  know,"  said  Prosper. 

"  I  have  merely  convinced  myself  that  this  safe  has 
been  recently  opened  or  shut,  I  know  not  w^hich,  with 
some  violence  and  haste." 

"  How  so  ? "  asked  the  commissary,  becoming  attentive. 

"  Look,  sir,  at  this  scratch  near  the  lock." 

The  commissary  stooped  down,  and  carefully  examined 
the  safe  ;  he  saw  a  slight  scratch  several  inches  long  that 
had  removed  the  outer  coat  of  varnish.  "  I  see  the 
scratch,"  said  he,  "  but  what  does  it  prove  t  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  at  all !  "  said  Fanferlot.  "  I  just  now 
told  you  it  was  of  no  importance." 

Fanferlot  said  this,  but  it  was  not  his  real  opinion. 
This  scratch,  undeniably  fresh,  had  for  him  a  signification 
that  escaped  the  others.  He  said  to  himself  :  "This  con- 
firms my  supicions.  If  the  cashier  had  stolen  millions, 
there  was  no  occasion  for  his  being  in  a  hurry ;  whereas 
the  banker  creeping  down  in  the  dead  of  the  night  with 
furtive  footsteps,  for  fear  of  awakening  the  man  in  the 
outer  room,  in  order  to  rifle  his  own  safe,  had  every  reason 
to  tremble,  to  hurry,  to  hastily  withdraw  the  key,  which, 
slipping  out  of  the  lock,  scratched  off  the  varnish." 

Resolved  to  unravel  alone  the  tangled  thread  of  this 
mystery,  the  detective  determined  to  keep  his  conjectures 
to  himself ;  for  the  same  reason  he  was  silent  as  to  the 
interview  which  he  had  witnessed  between  Madeleine  and 
Prosper.  He  hastened  to  withdraw  attention  from  the 
scratch  upon  the  lock.  "  To  conclude,"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing the  commissary,  "  I  am  convinced  that  no  one 
outside  of  the  bank  could  have  obtained  access  to  this 
room.  The  safe,  moreover,  is  intact.  No  suspicious  press- 
ure has  been  used  on  the  movable  buttons.  I  can  assert 
that  the  lock  has  not  been  tampered  with  by  burglars' 
tools  or  false  keys.  Those  who  opened  the  safe  knew  the 
word,  and  possessed  the  key." 

This  formal  affirmation  of  a  man  whom  he  knew  to  be 
skilful  ended  the  hesitation  of  the  commissary.  "  That 
being  the  case,"  he  replied,  "  I  must  request  a  few  mo« 
ments  conversation  with  M.  Fauvel." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  said  the  banker. 

Prosper  foresaw  the  result  of  this  conversation,     Ha 


F/LE  NO.  113.  23 

quietly  placed  his  hat  on  the  table  to  show  that  he  had  no 
intention  of  attempting  to  escape,  and  passed  into  the  ad 
joining  office.  Fanferlot  also  went  out,  but  not  before 
the  •^.ommissary  had  made  him  a  sign,  and  received  one 
in  return.  This  sign  signified,  "  You  are  responsible  for 
this  rt:an." 

The  detective  needed  no  hint  to  make  him  keep  a  strict 
watch.  His  suspicions  were  too  vague,  his  desire  for  suc- 
cess was  too  ardent,  for  him  to  lose  sight  of  Prosper  an 
instant.  Closely  following  the  cashier,  he  seated  himself 
in  a  dark  corner  of  the  office,  and,  pretending  to  be  sleepy, 
he  fixeJ  himself  in  a  comfortable  position  for  taking  a  nap, 
gaped  antil  his  jawbone  seemed  about  to  be  dislocated, 
then  closed  his  eyes  and  kept  perfectly  quiet. 

Prosper  took  a  seat  at  the  desk  of  an  absent  clerk. 
The  others  were  burning  to  know  the  result  of  the  inves- 
tigation ;  their  eyes  shone  with  curiosity,  but  they  dared 
not  asK  a  question.  Unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer, 
little  Cavaillon,  Prosper's  defender,  ventured  to  say « 
"  Weli^  who  stole  the  money  .''  " 

Prosper  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Nobody  knows,"  he 
replied!. 

Was  this  conscious  innocence  or  hardened  reckless- 
ness ?  The  clerks  observed  with  bewildered  surprise 
that  Prosper  had  resumed  his  usual  manner — that  sort 
of  icy  haughtiness  that  kept  people  at  a  distance,  and 
made  him  so  unpopular  in  the  bank.  Save  the  death-like 
pallor  of  his  face,  and  the  dark  circles  around  his  swollen 
eyes,  he  bore  no  traces  of  the  pitiable  agitation  he  had 
exhibited  not  long  before.  Never  would  a  stranger  en- 
tering the  office  have  supposed  that  this  young  man,  idly 
lounging  in  a  chair  and  toying  with  a  pencil,  was  resting 
under  an  accusation  of  robbery,  and  was  about  to  be  ar- 
rested. He  soon  stopped  playing  with  the  pencil,  and 
drew  towards  him  a  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  he  hastily 
wrote  a  few  lines. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  "  thought  Fanferlot,  the  squirrel,  whose  hear* 
mg  and  sight  were  wonderfully  good  in  spite  of  his  pro* 
found  sleep  ;  "  eh  !  eh  !  he  makes  his  little  confidential 
communication  on  paper,  I  see  ;  now  we  will  discover 
something  positive." 

His  note  written,  Prosper  folded  it  carefully  into  the 
gniallest  possible  size,  and  after  furtively  glancing  towarcjg 


24  FILE  NO.  113. 

the  detective,  who  remained  motionless  in  his  cornerj 
threw  it  across  the  desk  to  little  Cavaillon  with  this  one 
word — "  Gipsy  !  " 

All  this  was  so  quickly  and  cleverly  done  that  Fanfer- 
lot  was  confounded,  and  began  to  feel  a  little  uneasy. 
*'  The  devil  take  him  !  "  said  he  to  himself  ;  "  for  a  suffer- 
ing innocent  this  young  dandy  has  more  pluck  and  nerve 
than  many  of  my  oldest  customers.  This,  however,  shows 
the  result  of  education  ! " 

Yes,  innocent  or  guilty.  Prosper  must  have  been  en- 
dowed with  great  self-control  and  power  of  dissimulation  to 
affect  this  presence  of  mind  at  a  time  when  his  honor, 
his  future  happiness,  all  that  he  held  dear  in  life,  were  at 
stake.     And  he  was  not  more  than  thirty  years  old. 

Either  from  natural  deference,  or  from  the  hope  of  gain- 
ing some  ray  of  light  by  a  private  conversation,  the  com- 
missary determined  to  speak  to  the  banker  before  acting 
decisively.  "  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt,"  said  he, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone  ;  "  this  young  man  has  robbed 
you.  It  would  be  a  gross  neglect  of  duty  if  I  did  not  se- 
cure his  person.  The  law  will  decide  whether  he  shall  be 
released,  or  sent  to  prison." 

This  declaration  seemed  to  distress  the  banker.  He 
sank  into  a  chair,  and  murmured  :  "  Poor  Prosper  !  "  See- 
ing the  astonished  look  of  his  listener,  he  added  :  "  Until  to- 
day, I  have  always  had  the  most  implicit  faith  in  my  cash- 
ier's honesty,  and  would  have  unhesitatingly  confided  my 
fortune  to  his  keeping.  Almost  on  my  knees  have  I  be- 
sought and  implored  him  to  confess  that  in  a  moment  of 
desperation  he  had  taken  the  money,  promising  him  par- 
don and  forgetfulness  ;  but  I  could  not  move  him.  I 
loved  him  ;  and  even  now,  in  spite  of  the  trouble  and  hu- 
miliation that  he  is  heaping  upon  me,  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  feel  harshly  towards  him." 

The  commissary  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand, 
"What  do  you  mean  by  humiliation  ? "  he  asked. 

"  What !  "  said  M.  Fauvel  excitedly,  "  is  not  justice  the 
same  for  all  ?  Because  I  am  the  head  of  a  bank,  and 
he  only  a  clerk,  does  it  follow  that  my  word  is  more  to  be 
relied  upon  than  his  ?  Why  could  I  not  have  robbed  my- 
self ?  Such  things  have  been  done.  They  will  ask  me 
fgr  f^ct§ ;  and  I  shall  be  compelled  to  expose  the  exact 


FILE  NO.  113.  27 

situation  of  my  house,  explain  my  affairs,  disclose  the  se- 
cret  and  method  of  my  operations." 

"  It  is  possible  that  you  will  be  called  upon  for  some  ex- 
planation ;  but  your  well-known  integrity — " 

"  Alas  !  He  was  honest  too.  His  integrity  has  never 
been  doubted.  Who  would  have  been  suspected  this 
morning  if  I  had  not  been  able  to  instantly  produce  a  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns  ?  Who  would  be  suspected  if  I 
could  not  prove  that  my  assets  exceed  my  liabilities  by 
more  than  three  millions  ?  " 

To  a  strictly  honorable  man,  the  thought,  the  possi- 
bility of  suspicion  tarnishing  his  fair  name,  is  cruel  suffer- 
ing. The  banker  suffered,  and  the  commissary  of  police 
saw  it,  and  felt  for  him.  "  Be  calm,  sir,"  said  he  ;  "  before 
the  end  of  a  week,  justice  will  have  collected  sufficient 
proof  to  establish  the  guilt  of  this  unfortunate  man,  whom 
we  may  now  recall." 

Prosper  entered  with  Fanferlot — whom  they  had  much 
trouble  to  awaken-^-and  with  the  most  stolid  indifference 
listened  to  the  announcement  of  his  arrest.  In  response 
he  calmly  said  :  "  I  swear  that  I  am  guiltless." 

M.  Fauvel,  much  more  disturbed  and  excited  than  his 
cashier,  made  a  last  attempt.  "  It  is  not  too  late  yet,  poor 
boy,"  he  said  :  "  for  heaven's  sake  reflect — " 

Prosper  did  not  appear  to  hear  him.  He  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  small  key,  which  he  laid  on  the  table,  and  said  : 
"  Here,  sir,  is  the  key  of  your  safe.  I  hope  for  my  sake 
that  you  will  some  day  be  convinced  of  my  innocence  ;  and 
I  hope  for  your  sake  that  the  conviction  will  not  come  too 
late."  Then  as  every  one  was  silent,  he  resumed  :  "  Be- 
fore leaving  I  hand  over  to  you  the  books,  papers,  and  ac- 
counts necessary  for  my  successor.  I  must  at  the  same 
time  inform  you  that,  w^ithout  speaking  of  the  stolen  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  I  leave  a  deficit  in 
cash." 

A  deficit !  This  ominous  word  frOm  the  lips  of  the  cash- 
ier fell  like  a  bombshell  upon  the  ears  of  Prosper's 
hearers.  His  declaration  was  interpreted  irr-divers  ways. 
"  A  deficit !  "  thought  the  commissary  ;  "  how,  after  this, 
can  his  guilt  be  doubted  ?  Before  stealing  the  whole  con- 
tfiODits  of  the  safe,  he  has  kept  his  hand  in  by  occasional 
small  ihefts."  "  A  deficit !  "  said  the  detective  to  himself, 
"  now,  no  doubt,  the  very  innocence  of  tiiis  poor  wretch 


26  PILE  NO.  113. 

gives  his  conduct  an  appearance  of  great  depravity  ;  were 
he  guilty,  he  would  have  replaced  the  first  money  by  a 
portion  of  the  second." 

The  grave  importance  of  Prosper's  statement  was  con- 
siderably lessened  by  the  explanation  he  proceeded  to 
make  :  "  There  is  a  deficit  of  three  thousand  five  kundred 
francs  on  my  cash  account,  which  has  been  disposed  of  in 
the  following  manner :  two  thousand  taken  by  myself  in 
advance  on  my  salary ;  fifteen  hundred  advanced  to  sev- 
eral of  my  fellow  clerks.  This  is  the  last  day  of  the  month  : 
to-morrow  the  salaries  will  be  paid,  consequently — " 

The  commissary  interrupted  him — "Were  you  author* 
ized  to  draw  money  whenever  you  wished  for  yourself  or 
the  clerks  ? " 

"  No ;  but  I  knew  that  M.  Fauvel  would  not  have  re- 
fused me  permission  to  oblige  my  friends  in  the  bank. 
What  I  did  is  done  everywhere  ;  I  have  simply  followed 
my  predecessor's  example."  The  banker  made  a  sign  of 
assent.  "  As  regards  that  spent  by  myself,"  continued 
the  cashier,  "  I  had  a  sort  of  right  to  it,  all  of  my  savings 
being  deposited  in  this  bank ;  about  fifteen  thousand 
francs." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  M.  Fauvel ,  "  M.  Bertomy  has  at 
least  that  amount  on  deposit." 

This  last  question  settled,  the  commissary's  errand  was 
at  an  end,  and  his  report  might  now  be  made.  He  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  leaving,  and  ordered  the  cashier 
to  prepare  to  follow  him. 

Usually,  the  moment — when  stern  reality  stares  us  in 
the  face,  when  our  individuality  is  lost,  and  we  feel  that 
we  are  being  deprived  of  our  liberty — is  terrible.  At  the 
fatal  command,  "  Follow  me,"  which  brings  before  our 
eyes  the  yawning  prison  gates,  the  most  hardened  sinner 
feels  his  courage  fail,  and  abjectly  begs  for  mercy.  But 
Prosper  lost  none  of  that  studied  stoicism  which  the  com- 
missary of  police  secretly  pronounced  consummate  impu- 
dence. Slowly,  with  as  much  careless  ease  as  if  going  to 
lunch  with  a  friend,  he  smoothed  his  hair,  drew  on  his 
overcoat  and  gloves,  and  said  politely :  "  I  am  ready,  sir, 
to  accompany  you." 

The  commissary  folded  up  his  note-book,  and  bowing  to 
M.  Fauvel,  said  to  Prosper,  "  Come  with  me  !  " 

They  left  the  room,  and  with  a  distressed  face,  and  eyes 


FILE  NO.  113,  fjr 

filled  with  tears  that   he   could  not   restrain,  the   banker 
stood  watching  their  retreating  forms. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed  :  "  gladly  would  I  give 
twice  that  sum  to  regain  my  old  confidence  in  poor  Pros- 
per, and  be  able  to  keep  him  with  me  !  " 

The  quick-eared  Fanferlot  overheard  these  words,  and 
prompt  to  suspicion,  and  ever  disposed  to  impute  to  others 
the  deep  astuteness  peculiar  to  himself,  was  convinced 
they  had  beei  uttered  for  his  benefit.  He  had  remained 
behind  the  others,  under  pretext  of  looking  for  an  imagin- 
ary umbrella,  and,  as  he  reluctantly  departed,  said  he 
would  call  in  again  to  see  if  it  had  been  found. 

It  was  Fanfc^rlot's  task  to  escort  Prosper  to  prison  ;  but, 
as  they  were  about  starting,  he  asked  the  commissary  to 
leave  him  at  liberty  to  pursue  another  course,  a  request 
which  liis  superior  granted.  Fanferlot  h~ad  resolved  to 
obtain  possession  of  Prosper's  note,  which  he  knew  to  be 
in  Cavaillon's  pocket.  To  obtain  this  written  proof,  which 
must  be  an  important  one,  appeared  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world.  He  had  simply  to  arrest  Cavaillon,  frighten 
him,  demand  the  letter,  and,  if  necessary,  take  it  by  force. 
But  to  what  would  this  lead  ?  To  nothing  but  an  incom- 
plete and  doubtful  result. 

Fanferlot  was  convinced  that  the  note  was  int  ;nded, 
not  for  the  young  clerk,  but  for  a  third  person.  If  exas- 
perated, Cavaillon  might  refuse  to  divulge  who  this  person 
was,  who  after  all  might  not  bear  the  name  "  Gipsy  "  pro- 
nounced by  the  cashier.  And,  even  if  he  did  answer  his 
questions,  would  he  not  lie  }  After  mature  reflection,  Fan 
ferlot  decided  that  it  would  be  superfluous  to  ask  for  a  se- 
cret when  it  could  be  surprised.  To  quietly  follow  Cavail- 
lon, and  keep  close  watch  on  him  until  he  caught  him  in  the 
very  act  of  handing  over  the  letter,  was  but  play  for  the  de- 
tective. This  method  of  proceeding,  moreover,  was  much 
more  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  Fanferlot,  who,  being 
naturally  soft  and  stealthy,  deemed  it  due  to  his  profession 
to  avoid  all  disturbance  or  anything  resembling  violence. 

Fanfe riot's  plan  was  settled  when  he  reached  the  vesti- 
bule. He  began  talking  with  an  office-boy,  and,  after  a  few 
apparently  idle  questions,  discovered  that  Fauvel's  bank 
had  no  outlet  on  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire,  and  that  con- 
sequently all  the  clerks  were  obliged  to  pass  in  and  out 
through  the  main  entrance  in  the  Rue  de  Provence,     Froni 


28  FILE  NO.  113. 

this  moment  the  task  he  had  undertaken  no  longer  pre- 
sented a  shadow  of  difficulty.  He  rapidly  crossed  the  street, 
and  took  up  his  position  under  a  gateway.  His  post  of  ob- 
servation was  admirably  chosen ;  not  only  could  he  see 
every  one  who  entered  and  came  out  of  the  bank,  but  he 
also  commanded  a  view  of  all  the  windows,  and  by  stand= 
ing  on  tiptoe  could  look  through  the  grating  and  see  Ca- 
vaillon  bending  over  his  desk. 

Fanferlot  waited  a  long  time,  but  did  not  get  impatient, 
for  he  had  often  remained  on  watch  entire  days  and  nights 
at  a  time,  with  much  less  important  objects  in  view  than 
the  present  one.  Besides,  his  mind  was  busily  occupied  in 
estimating  the  value  of  his  discoveries,  weighing  his  chances, 
and,  like  Perrette  with  her  pot  of  milk,  building  the  foun- 
dation of  his  fortune  upon  present  success.  Finally,  about 
one  o'clock,  he  saw  Cavaillon  rise  from  his  desk,  change 
his  coatj  and  take  down  his  hat.  "  Very  good  ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  my  man  is  coming  out ;  I  must  keep  my  eyes 
open." 

The  next  moment  Cavaillon  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
bank  ;  but  before  stepping  on  the  pavement  he  looked  up 
and  down  the  street  in  an  undecided  manner. 

"  Can  he  suspect  anything  ? "  thought  Fanferlot. 

No,  the  young  clerk  suspected  nothing;  only  having  a 
commission  to  execute,  and  fearing  his  absence  would  be  ob- 
served, he  was  debating  with  himself  which  would  be  the 
shortest  road  for  him  to  take.  He  soon  decided,  entered 
the  Faubourg  Montmartre,  and  walked  up  the  Rue  Notre 
Dame  de  Lorette  so  rapidly,  utterly  regardless  of  the 
grumbling  passers-by  whom  he  elbowed  out  of  his  way, 
that  Fanferlot  found  it  difficult  to  keep  him  in  sight. 
Reaching  the  Rue  Chaptal,  Cavaillon  suddenly  stopped, 
and  entered  the  house  numbered  39.  He  had  scarcely 
taken  three  steps  in  the  narrow  hall  when  he  felt  a  touch 
on  his  shoulder,  and  turning  abruptly  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  Fanferlot.  He  recognized  him  at  once,  and  turn- 
ing very  pale  he  shrank  back,  and  looked  around  for  means 
of  escape.  But  the  detective,  anticipating  the  attempt, 
barred  the  way.  Cavaillon  saw  that  he  was  fairly  caught. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  .^  "  he  asked  in  a  voice 
tremulous  with  fright. 

Fanferlot  was  distinguished  among  his  colleagues  for 
his   exquisite   suavity   and   unequalled   urbanity.      Evei^ 


FILE  NO.  113.  29 

with  his  prisoners  he  was  the  perfection  of  courtesy,  and 
never  was  known  to  handcuff  a  man  without  first  apologiz- 
ing for  being  compelled  to  do  so.  "  You  will  be  kind 
enough,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  to  excuse  the  great  lib> 
ert-y  I  take ;  but  I  really  am  under  the  necessity  of  ask- 
ing you  for  a  little  information." 

"  Information  !     From  me,  sir  "i  " 

"  From  you,  my  dear  sir ;  from  M.  Eugbne  Cavail 
Ion." 

"  But  I  do  not  know  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  must  remember  seeing  me  this  morning. 
It  is  only  about  a  trifling  matter,  and  you  will  overwhelm 
me  with  obligations  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  accept 
my  arm,  and  step  outside  for  a  moment."  What  could 
Cavaillon  do  .'*  He  took  Fanferlot's  arm,  and  went  out 
with  him. 

The  Rue  Chaptal  is  not  one  of  those  noisy  thorough- 
fares where  foot-passengers  are  in  perpetual  danger  of 
being  run  over  by  numberless  vehicles  dashing  to  and  fro ; 
there  are  but  two  or  three  shops,  and  from  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  Fontaine,  occupied  by  an  apothecar}'-,  to  the 
entrance  of  the  Rue  Le'onie.  extends  a  high,  gloomy  wall, 
broken  here  and  there  by  some  small  windows  which  light 
the  carpenters'  shops  behind.  It  is  one  of  those  streets 
where  you  can  talk  at  your  ease,  without  having  to  step 
from  the  sidewalk  every  moment.  So  Fanferlot  and  Ca- 
vaillon were  in  no  danger  of  being  disturbed  by  passers- 

by- 

"  What  I  wished  to  say,  my  dear  sir,"  began  the  detec- 
tive, "  is  that  M.  Prosper  Bertomy  threw  you  a  note  this 
morning." 

Cavaillon  vaguely  foresaw  that  he  was  to  be  questioned 
about  this  note  and  instantly  put  himself  on  his  guard 
"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  blushing  to  his  ears. 

''  Excuse  me  for  presuming  to  contradict  you,  but  I  am 
quite  certain  of  what  I  say." 

"  I  assure  you  that  Prosper  never  gave  me  anything." 

"Pray,  sir,  do  not  persist  in  a  denial;  you  will  compel 
me  to  prove  that  four  clerks  saw  him  throw  you  a  note 
written  in  pencil  and  closely  folded." 

Cavaillon  saw  the  folly  of  further  contradicting  a  man 
so  well  informed;  so  he  changed  his  tactics,  and  said  : 
**  IX  is  true  Prosper  gave  me  a  note  this  morning ;  but  as 


30  FILE  NO.  \i%. 

it  was  intended  for  me  alone,  after  reading  it,  I  tore  it  up, 
and  threw  the  pieces  in  the  fire." 

This  might  be  the  truth.  Fanferlot  feared  so  ;  but  how 
could  he  assure  himself  of  the  fact :  He  remembered  that 
the  most  palpable  tricks  often  succeed  the  best,  and,  trust- 
ing to  his  star,  he  said  at  hazard  :  "  Permit  me  to  observe 
that  this  statement  is  not  correct ;  the  note  was  entrusted 
to  you  to  give  to  Gipsy." 

A  despairing  gesture  from  Cavaillon  apprised  the  de- 
tective that  he  was  not  mistaken  ;  he  breathed  again.  "  I 
swear  to  you,  sir — "  began  the  young  man. 

"  Do  not  swear,"  interrupted  Fanferlot  :  "  all  the  oaths 
in  the  world  would  be  useless.  You  not  only  preserved 
the  note,  but  you  came  to  this  house  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  it  to  Gipsy,  and  it  is  in  your  pocket  now." 

"  No,  sir,  no  !  " 

Fanferlot  paid  no  attention  to  this  denial,  but  continued 
in  his  gentlest  tone  :  "  And  I  am  sure  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  give  it  to  me  ;  believe  me,  nothing  but  the 
most  absolute  necessity — " 

"  Never  !  "  exclaimed  Cavaillon  ;  and,  believing  the 
moment  favorable,  he  suddenly  attempted  to  jerk  his  arm 
from  under  Fanferlot's  and  escape.  But  his  efforts  v.ere 
vain  ;  the  detective's  strength  was  equal  to  his  suavity. 

"Don't  hurt  yourself,  young  man,"  he  said," but  take 
*>iy  advice,  and  quietly  give  up  the  letter." 

"  I  have  not  got  it." 

"  Very  well ;  see,  you  reduce  me  to  painful  extremities. 
If  you  persist  in  being  so  obstinate,  I  shall  call  two  po- 
licemen, who  will  take  you  by  each  arm,  and  escort  you 
to  the  commissary  of  police  ;  and,  once  there,  I  shall  be 
under  the  painful  necessity  of  searching  your  pockets, 
whether  you  will  or  not." 

Cavaillon  was  devoted  to  Prosper,  and  willing  to  make 
any  sacrifice  in  his  behalf ;  but  he  clearly  saw  that  it  was 
worse  than  useless  to  struggle  any  longer,  as  he  would 
have  no  time  to  destroy  the  note.  To  deliver  it  under 
force  was  no  betrayal  ;  but  he  cursed  his  powerlessness, 
and  almost  wept  with  rage.  "  I  am  in  your  power,"  he 
said,  and  then  suddenly  drew  from  his  pocket-book  the 
unlucky  note,  and  gave  it  to  the  detective. 

Fanferlot  trembled  with  pleasure  as  he  unfolded  the 
paper;  y^t,  faithful  to  his  habits  of  fastidious  politene^Si 


FILE  NO.  113.  31 

before  reading  it,  he  bowed  to  Cavaillon  and  said  :  "  You 
will  peimit  me,  will  you  not,  sir  ?  "  Then  he  read  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  Dear  Nina — If  you  love  me,  follow  my  instructions 
instantly,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  without  asking 
any  questions.  On  the  receipt  of  this  note,  take  every- 
thing you  have  in  the  house,  absolutely  everytJmig^  and  es- 
tablish yourself  in  furnished  rooms  at  the  other  end  of 
Paris.  Do  not  appear  in  public,  but  conceal  yourself  as 
much  as  possible.  My  life  may  depend  on  your  obedi- 
ence. I  am  accused  of  an  outrageous  robbery,  and  am 
about  to  be  arrested.  Take  with  you  five  hundred  francs, 
which  you  will  find  in  the  secretary.  Leave  your  address 
with  Cavaillon,  who  will  explain  what  I  have  not  time  to 
tell.  Be  .  hopeful,  whatever  happens.  Good-by ! — Pros- 
per." 

Had  Cavaillon  been  less  bewildered,  he  would  have 
seen  blank  disappointment  depicted  upon  the  detective's 
face  after  the  perusal  of  the  note.  Fanferlot  had  cher- 
ished the  hope  that  he  was  about  to  possess  a  very  im- 
portant document  which  would  clearly  prove  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  Prosper ;  whereas  he  had  only  seized  a  love- 
letter  written  by  a  man  who  was  evic.  ..ntly  more  anxious 
about  the  welfare  of  the  woman  he  loved  than  about  his 
own.  Vainly  did  he  puzzle  over  the  letter,  hoping  to  dis- 
cover some  hidden  meaning :  twist  the  words  as  he  would, 
tliey  proved  nothing  for  or  against  the  writer.  The  two 
words  "absolutely  everything"  were  underscored,  it  is 
true ;  but  they  could  be  interpreted  in  so  many  ways. 
The  detective,  however,  determined  not  to  drop  the  mat- 
ter here.  "This  Madame  Nina  Gipsy  is  doubtless  a 
friend  of  M.  Prosper  Bertomy  ?  " 

"She  is  \\\?> paj'ticular  ix\Q.ViAr 

"  Ah,  I  understand  ;  and  she  lives  here  at  No.  39  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  well  enough,  as  you  saw  me  go  in 
there  " 

"  I  suspected  it  to  be  the  house,  but  now  tell  me  whethej 
the  apartments  she  occupies  are  rented  in  her  name." 

"No.     Prosper  rents  them." 

"  Exactly ;  and  on  which  floor,  if  you  please  ? " 

"  On  the  first." 

During  this  colloquy,  Fanferlot  had  folded  up  the  ote, 
and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket.     "  A  thousand  thanks," 


3t  FILE  NO.  113. 

said  he,  "  for  the  information ;  and,  in  return,  I  will  re 
lieve  you  of  the  trouble  of  executing  your  commission." 

."Sir!" 

"  Yes ;  with  your  permission,  I  will  myself  take  this 
note  to  Madame  Nina  Gipsy." 

Cavaillon  began  to  remonstrate,  but  Fanferlot  cut  him 
short  by  saying,  "  I  will  also  venture  to  give  you  a  piece 
of  advice.  Return  quietly  to  your  business  and  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  this  affair." 

"  But  Prosper  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  has  saved 
me  from  ruin  more  than  once." 

"  Only  the  more  reason  for  3^our  keeping  quiet.  You 
cannot  be  of  the  slightest  assistance  to  him,  and  I  can 
tell  you  that  you  may  be  of  great  injury.  As  you  are 
known  to  be  his  devoted  friend,  of  course  your  absence 
at  this  time  will  be  remarked  upon.  Any  steps  that  you 
take  in  this  matter  will  receive  the  worst  interpretation." 

"  Prosper  is  innocent,  I  am  sure." 

Fanferlot  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but  he  had  no  idea 
of  betraying  his  private  thoughts  ;  and  yet  for  the  success 
of  his  investigations  it  was  necessary  to  impress  the  im- 
portance of  prudence  and  discretion  upon  the  young  man. 
He  would  have  told  him  to  keep  silent  concerning  what 
had  passed  between  them,  but  he  dared  not. 

"  What  you  say  may  be  true,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  it  is 
for  the  sake  of  M.  Bertomy,  and  on  your  own  account 
too  ;  for,  if  he  is  guilty,  you  will  certainly  be  very  much 
annoyed,  and  perhaps  suspected  of  complicity,  as  you  are 
well  known  to  be  intimate  with  him." 

Cavaillon  was  overcome. 

"  Now,  you  had  better  take  my  advice,  and  return  to 
the  bank,  and — Good  morning,  sir." 

The  poor  fellow  obeyed.  Slowly  and  with  swelling 
heart  he  returned  to  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette. 
He  asked  himself  how  he  could  serve  Prosper,  warn  Mad- 
ame Gipsy,  and  above  all,  have  his  revenge  upon  this 
odious  detective,  who  had  just  made  him  suffer  such  hu' 
miliation.  He  had  no  sooner  turned  the  corner  of  the 
street  than  Fanferlot  entered  No.  39,  mentioned  the 
name  of  Prosper  Bertomy  to  the  concierge,  went  up  stairs, 
and  knocked  at  the  first  door  he  came  to.  It  was  opened 
by  a  youthful  footman,  dressed  in  the  most  fanciful  livery, 

**  Is  Madame  Gipsy  at  home  ?  "  inquired  Fanlerlot. 


FILE  NO.  113  i-}, 

The  servant  hesitated  ;  seeing  this,  Fanferlot  showed 
his  note  and  said  •  "  M.  Prosper  told  me  to  hand  this  note 
to  madame  and  wait  for  an  answer." 

"  Walk  in,  and  I  will  let  madame  know  you  are  here." 

The  name  of  Prosper  produced  its  effect.  Fanferlot 
was  ushered  into  a  little  room  furnished  in  blue  and  gold 
silk  damask.  Heavy  curtains  darkened  the  windows,  and 
hung  in  front  of  the  doors.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a 
blue  velvet  pile  carpet. 

"  Our  cashier  was  certainly  well  lodged,"  murmured  the 
detective.  But  he  had  no  time  to  pursue  his  inventory. 
One  of  the  curtains  was  pushed  aside,  and  Madame  Nina 
Gipsy  stood  before  him.  She  was  quite  young,  small, 
and  graceful,  with  a  brown  or  rather  gold-colored  quad- 
roon complexion,  and  the  hands  and  feet  of  a  child. 
Long  curling  silk  lashes  softened  the  piercing  brilliancy 
of  her  large  black  eyes ;  her  lips  were  full,  and  her  teeth 
were  very  white.  She  had  not  yet  made  her  toilet,  but 
wore  a  velvet  dressing-gown,  which  did  not  conceal  the 
lace  ruffles  beneath.  But  she  had  already  been  under  the 
hands  of  a  hairdresser.  Her  hair  was  curled  and  frizzed 
high  on  her  forehead,  and  confined  by  narrow  bands  of 
red  velvet ;  her  back  hair  was  rolled  in  an  immense  coil, 
and  held  by  a  beautiful  gold  comb.  She  was  ravishing. 
Her  beauty  was  so  startling  that  the  dazzlea  detective 
was  speechless  with  admiration. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  remembered  the 
noble,  severe  beauty  of  Madeleine,  whom  he  had  seen  a 
few  hours  previous,  "  Our  young  gentleman  certainly  has 
good  taste — very  good  taste — two  perfect  beauties  !  " 

While  he  thus  reflected,  perfectly  bewildered,  and  won' 
dering  how  he  could  begin  the  conversation,  Madame 
Gipsy  eyed  him  with  the  most  disd:;uifiil  surprise  :  she 
was  waiting  for  this  shabby  little  man  in  a  threadbare 
coat  and  greasy  hat  to  explain  hi:,  presence  in  her  dainty 
drawing-room.  She  had  many  creditors,  and  was  recall- 
ing them,  and  wondering  which  one  had  dared  send  this 
man  to  wipe  his  dusty  boots  on  her  velvet-pile  carpets. 
After  scrutinizing  him  from  head  to  foot  with  undisguised 
contempt,  she  said  haughtily,  "  What  is  it  that  you 
want  ? " 

Any  one  but  Fanferlot  would  have  been  offended  at 
her  insolent  manner ;  but  he  only  noticed  it  to  gain  some 
^ 


34  PILE  NO.  113. 

notion  of  the  young  woman's  disposition.  *'  She  is  bad- 
tempered,"  he  thought,  "  and  is  uneducated." 

While  he  was  speculating  upon  her  merits,  Madame  Nina 
hnpatiently  stamped  her  little  foot  and  waited  for  an  an- 
swer ;  finally  she  said  :  "  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  What  do 
you  want  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  charged,  my  dear  madame,"  he  answered  in  his 
blandest  tone,  "  by  M.  Bertomy,  to  give  you  this  note." 

"  From  Prosper  !     You  know  him  then  ? " 

"  I  have  that  honor,  madame ;  indeed,  I  may  be  so 
bold  as  to  claim  him  as  a  friend." 

"What,  sir!  You  a  friend  of  Prosper!"  exclaimed 
Madame  Gipsy  in  a  scornful  tone,  as  if  her  pride  were 
wounded." 

Fanferlot  did  not  condescend  to  notice  this  offensive  ex- 
clamation. He  was  ambitious,  and  contempt  failed  to  ir- 
ritate him.  "  I  said  a  friend  of  his,  madame,  and  there 
are  few  people  who  would  have  the  courage  to  claim  friend- 
ship for  him  now." 

Madame  Gipsy  was  struck  by  the  words  and  manner 
of  Fanferlot.  "  I  never  could  guess  riddles,"  she  said 
tartly  ;  "  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  explain  what  you 
mean  .-' " 

The  detective  slowly  drew  Prosper's  note  from  his  pocket, 
and,  with  a  bow,  presented  it  to  Madame  Gipsy.  "  Read 
madame,"  he  said. 

She  certainly  anticipated  no  misfortune  ;  although  her 
sight  was  excellent,  she  stopped  to  fasten  a  tiny  gold  eye- 
glass on  her  nose,  then  carelessly  opened  the  note.  At  a 
glance  she  read  its  contents.  She  turned  very  pale,  then 
very  red  ;  she  trembled  as  if  with  a  nervous  chill ;  her 
limbs  seemed  to  give  way,  and  she  tottered  so  that  Fan- 
ferlot. thinking  she  was  about  to  fall,  extended  his  arms 
to  catch  her. 

Useless  precaution  !  Madame  Gipsy  was  one  of  those 
women  whose  inert  listlessness  conceals  indomitable  en- 
ergy; fragile-looking  creatures  whose  powers  of  endurance 
and  resistance  are  unlimited  ;  cat-like  in  their  soft  grace 
and  delicacy,  especially  cat-like  in  their  nerves  and  mus- 
cles of  steel.  The  dizziness  caused  by  the  shock  she  hac?. 
received  quickly  passed  off.  She  tottered,  but  did  not 
fall,  and  stood  up  looking  stronger  than  ever ;  seizing  the 
wrist  of  the  detective  she  held  it  as  if  her  delicate  little 


FILE  NO.  113.  35 

hand  were  a  vice,  and  cried  out :  "  Explain  yoursf^lf  \ 
what  does  all  this  mean  ?  Do  you  know  anything  about 
the  contents  of  this  note  ?  " 

Although  Fanferlot  showed  plenty  of  courage  in  daily 
contending  with  the  most  dangerous  rascals,  he  was  almost 
terrified  by  the  action  of  Madame  Gipsy.  "  Alas  !  "  was 
all  he  murmured. 

'"^  Prosper  is  to  be  arrested,  accused  of  being  a  thief  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  madame,  he  is  accused  of  taking  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  from  the  bank-safe." 

"  It  is  false,  infamous,  absurd  ! "  she  cried.  She  had 
dropped  Fanferlot's  hand  ;  and  her  fury,  like  that  of  a 
spoiled  child,  found  vent  in  violent  actions.  She  tore  her 
web-like  handkerchief,  and  the  magnificent  lace  on  her 
gown,  to  shreds.  "  Prosper  steal  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  what  a 
stupid  idea  !     Why  should  he  steal  t     Is  he  not  rich  ?  " 

*'  M.  Bertomy  is  not  rich,  madame  ;  he  has  nothing  but 
his  salary." 

This  answer  seemed  to  confound  Madame  Gipsy. 
"  But,"  she  insisted,  "  I  have  always  seen  him  with  plenty 
of  money;  not  rich — then — "  She  dared  not  finish  ;  but 
her  eye  met  Fanferlot's,  and  they  understood  each 
other. 

Madame  Nina's  look  meant :  "  He  committed  this  rob- 
bery in  order  to  gratify  my  extravagant  whims."  Fanfer- 
lot's glance  signified  •  "  Very  likely,  madame." 

A  few  moment's  reflection  restored  Nina's  original  as- 
surance. Doubt  fled  after  hovering  for  an  instant  over 
her  agitated  mind.  "  No  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  regret  to  say 
that  Prosper  would  never  have  stolen  a  single  sou  for  me. 
One  can  understand  a  man  robbing  a  bank  to  obtain  the 
means  of  bestowing  pleasure  and  luxury  upon  the  woman 
he  loves  ;  but  Prosper  does  not  love  me ;  he  never  has 
loved  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady  !  "  protested  the  gallant  and  insin- 
•  uating  Fanferlot,  "you  surely  cannot  mean  what  you  say." 

Her  beautiful  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  she  sadly  shook 
(ler  head  and  replied :  "  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say.  It 
is  only  too  true.  He  is  ready  to  gratify  my  every  wish, 
you  may  say  ;  what  does  that  prove  t  Nothing.  I  am  too 
well  convinced  that  he  does  not.  love  me.  I  know  what 
love  is.  Once  I  was  beloved  by  an  affectionate,  true- 
hearted  man  ;  and  my  own  sufferings  of  the  last  year  make 


o 


6  FILE  NO.  113 


ine  know  how  miserable  I  must  have  made  him  by  iT>y 
cold  return.  Alas !  we  must  suffer  ourselves  before  we 
can  feel  for  others.  No,  I  am  nothing  to  Prosper ;  he 
would  not  care  if — " 

"  But  then,  madame,  why — " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  interrupted  Nina,  "  why  ?  You  will  be  very 
wise  if  you  can  answer  me.  For  a  year  have  I  vainly 
sought  an  answer  to  this  question,  so  sad  to  me.  I,  a 
woman,  cannot  answer  it ;  and  I  defy  you  to  do  so.  You 
cannot  discover  the  thoughts  of  a  man  who  is  so  thoroughly 
master  of  himself  that  he  never  permits  a  single  idea  that 
is  passing  through  his  mind  to  be  detected  upon  his  count- 
enance. I  have  watched  him  as  only  a  woman  can  watch 
the  man  upon  whom  her  fate  depends,  but  it  has  always 
been  in  vain.  He  is  kind  and  indulgent ;  but  he  does  not 
betray  himself,  never  will  commit  himself.  Ignorant  peo- 
ple call  him  weak,  yielding :  I  tell  you  that  fair-haired  man 
is  a  rod  of  iron  painted  like  a  reed  !  " 

Carried  away  by  the  violence  of  her  feelings,  Madame 
Nina  betrayed  her  inmost  thoughts.  She  was  without  dis- 
trust, never  suspecting  that  the  stranger  listening  to  her 
was  other  than  a  friend  of  Prosper.  As  for  Fanferlot,  he 
congratulated  himself  upon  his  success.  No  one  but  a 
woman  could  have  drawn  him  so  excellent  a  portrait ;  in 
a  moment  of  excitement  she  had  given  him  the  most  val- 
uable information ;  he  now  knew  the  nature  of  the  man 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  which,  in  an  investigation  like 
that  he  was  pursuing,  is  the  principal  point.  "  You  know 
that  M.  Bertomy  gambles,"  he  ventured  to  say,  "  and 
gambling  is  apt  to  lead  a  m.an — " 

Madame  Gipsy  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  interrupted 
him.  "  Yes,  he  plays,"  she  said,  "  but  he  is  not  a  gambler. 
I  have  seen  him  lose  and  gain  large  sums  without  betray- 
ing the  slightest  agitation.  He  plays  as  he  drinks,  as  he 
sups,  as  he  dissipates — without  passion,  without  enthu- 
siasm, without  pleasure.  Sometimes  he  frightens  me  ;  he 
seems  to  drag  about  a  body  without  a  soul.  Ah,  I  am  not 
happy !  Never  have  I  been  able  to  overcome  his  mdiffer- 
ence,  an  indifference  so  great,  so  reckless,  that  I  often 
think  it  must  be  despair ;  nothing  will  convince  me  that 
he  has  not  some  terrible  secret,  some  great  misfortiw* 
weighing  upon  his  mind,  and  making  life  a  burden-'* 

"  Then  he  has  never  spoken  to  you  of  his  past  ?  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  J' 

"  Why  should  he  tell  me  ?  Did  you  t\o*  hear  me  ?  / 
tetl  you  he  does  not  love  me  !  " 

Madame  Nina  was  overcome  by  thoughts  of  the  past 
and  tears  silently  coursed  down  her  cheek<5.  But  her  de- 
spair was  only  momentary.  She  started  up,  and,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  generous  resolution,  she  exclaimed  :  "  Bui 
I  love  him,  and  I  will  save  him  !  I  will  see  his  chief,  the 
miserable  wretch  who  dares  to  accuse  him.  I  will  haunt 
the  judges,  and  I  will  prove  that  he  is  innocent.  Come, 
/i.r,  let  us  start,  and  I  promise  you  that  before  sunset  he 
anall  be  free,  or  I  shall  be  in  prison  with  him." 

Madame  Gipsy's  project  was  certainly  laudable,  and 
prompted  by  the  noblest  sentiments  ;  but  unfortunately  it 
was  impracticable.  Moreover,  it  would  be  going  counter 
to  the  plans  of  the  detective.  Although  he  had  resolved 
to  reserve  to  himself  all  the  difficulties  as  well  as  the  ben- 
efits of  this  inquiry,  Fanferlot  saw  clearly  that  he  could 
not  conceal  the  existence  of  Madame  Nina  from  the  inves* 
tigating  magistrate.  She  would  necessarily  be  brought  in- 
to the  case,  and  be  sought  after.  But  he  did  not  wish  her 
to  take  any  steps  of  her  own  accord.  He  proposed  to  let 
her  appear  when  and  how  he  judged  proper,  so  that  he 
might  gain  for  himself  the  merit  of  having  discovered 
her. 

Fanferlot's  first  step  was  to  tr}^  to  calm  the  young 
woman's  excitement.  He  thought  it  easy  to  prove  to  her 
that  the  slightest  interference  in  favor  of  Prosper  would 
be  a  piece  of  folly.  "  What  will  you  gain  by  acting  thus, 
my  dear  madame  ?  "  he  asked.  *'  Nothing.  I  can  assure 
you  that  you  have  not  the  least  chance  of  success.  Re- 
member that  you  will  seriously  compromise  yourself.  Who 
knows  if  you  will  not  be  suspected  as  M.  Bertomy's  accom- 
plice?" 

But  this  alarming  perspective,  which  had  frightened  Ca- 
vaillon  into  foolishly  giving  up  a  letter  which  he  might  so 
easily  have  retained,  only  stimulated  Gipsy's  enthusiasm. 
Man  calculates,  while  woman  follows  the  inspirations  ot 
her  heart.  Our  most  devoted  friend,  if  a  man,  hesitates 
and  draws  back  ;  if  a  woman,  rushes  undauntedly  forward, 
regardless  of  the  danger.  "  What  matters  the  risk?  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  don't  believe  any  danger  exists  ;  but,  if  It 
does,  so  much  the  better  :  it  will  be  all  the  more  to  my 
credit.     I  am  sure  Prosper  is  innocent;  but,  if  he  shou'^ 


yf  FILE  NO.  113. 

be  guilty,  I  wish  to  share  the  punishment  which  awaits 
him." 

Madame  Gipsy's  persistence  was  becoming  alarming. 
She  hastily  drew  around  her  a  cashmere  shawl,  put  on  her 
bonnet,  and,  although  still  wearing  her  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  declared  that  she  was  ready  to  walk  from  one  end 
of  Paris  to  the  other,  in  search  of  this  or  the  other  magis 
•rate. 

"  Come,  sir,"  she  said,  with  feverish  impatience.  "  Are 
you  not  coming  with  me  1 " 

Fanferlot  was  perplexed.  Happily  he  had  always  several 
strings  to  his  bow.  Personal  considerations  having  no  hold 
upon  this  impulsive  nature,  he  resolved  to  appeal  to  her  inter- 
est in  Prosper. 

"  I  am  at  your  command,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said  ;  "let 
us  go  if  you  desire  it ;  only  permit  me,  while  there  is  yet 
time,  to  say  that  we  are  very  probably  about  to  do  great 
mjury  to  M.  Bertomy." 

"In  what  way,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Because  we  are  taking  a  step  that  he  expressly  forbade 
in  his  letter  ;  we  are  surprising  him — giving  him  no  warn- 
ing." 

Nina  scornfully  tossed  her  head,  and  replied  :  "  There 
are  some  people  who  must  be  saved  without  warning,  and 
against  their  will.  I  know  Prosper;  he  is  just  the  man  to 
let  himself  be  murdered  without  a  struggle,  without  speak- 
ing a  word — to  give  himself  up  through  sheer  recklessness 
and  despair." 

"  Excuse  me,  madame,"  interrupted  the  detective  :  "  M. 
Bertomy  has  by  no  means  the  appearance  of  a  man  who 
has  abandoned  himself  to  despair.  On  the  contrary,  I 
think  he  has  already  prepared  his  plan  of  defence.  By 
showing  yourself,  when  he  advises  you  to  remain  in  con- 
cealment, you  will  very  likely  render  his  most  careful  pre- 
cautions useless." 

Madame  Gipsy  was  silently  weighing  the  value  of  Fan- 
ferlot's  objections.  Finally  she  said  :  "  I  cannot  remain 
here  inactive,  without  attempting  to  contribute  in  some 
way  to  his  safety.  Can  you  not  understand  that  this  floor 
burns  my  feet  ?  " 

Evidently,  if  she  was  not  absolutely  convinced,  her  reso- 
lution was  shaken.  Fanferlot  saw  that  he  was  gainmg 
ground,  and  this  certainty,  patting  him  more  at  ease,  gave- 


FILE  NO.  113.  39 

weight  to  his  persuasive  eloquence.  "You  have  it  in 
your  power,  madame,"  he  said,  "  to  render  a  great  service 
to  the  man  you  love." 

"  In  what  way,  sir  ?  tell  me  in  what  way." 

"Obey  him,  my  child,"  said  Fanferlot,  in  a  paternal 
tone. 

Madame  Gipsy  evidently  expected  very  different  advice. 
"  Obey,"  she  murmured,  "  obey  !  " 

"  It  is  your  duty,"  said  Fanferlot  with  grave  dignity  ;  "  it 
is  your  sacred  duty." 

She  still  hesitated  ;  and  he  took  from  the  table  Prosper's 
note,  which  she  had  laid  there,  and  continued  :  "  What ! 
M.  Bertomy  at  the  most  trying  moment,  when  he  is  ?bout 
to  be  arrested,  stops  to  point  out  your  line  of  conduct ;  and 
you  would  render  vain  this  wise  precaution  !  What  does 
he  say  to  you?  Let  us  read  over  this  note,  which  is  like 
the  testament  of  his  liberty.  He  says,  '  If  you  love  me,  I 
entreat  you,  obey.'  And  you  hesitate  to  obey.  Then  you 
do  not  love  him.  Can  you  not  understand,  unhappy  child, 
that  M.  Bertomy  has  his  reasons,  terrible,  imperious  rea- 
sons,  for  your  remaining  in  obscurity  for  the  present .''  " 

Fanferlot  understood  these  reasons  the  moment  he  put 
ais  foot  in  the  sumptuous  apartment  of  the  Rue  Chaptal ; 
and,  if  he  did  not  expose  them  now,  it  was  because  he  kept 
them  as  a  good  general  keeps  his  reserve,  for  the  purpose 
of  deciding  the  victory.  Madame  Gipsy  was  intelligent 
enough  to  divine  these  reasons. 

"  Reasons  for  my  hiding  !  "  thought  she.  "  Prosper 
wishes,  then,  to  keep  everyone  in  ignorance  of  our  inti- 
macy." 

She  remained  thoughtful  for  a  moment ;  then  a  ray  of 
light  seemed  to  cross  her  mind,  and  she  exclaimed  :  "  Oh, 
I  understand  now !  Fool  that  I  was  for  not  seeing  it  be- 
fore !  My  presence  here,  where  I  have  been  for  a  year, 
would  be  an  overwhelming  charge  against  him.  An  inven- 
tory of  my  possessions  would  be  taken — of  my  dresses,  my 
laces,  my  jewels — and  my  luxury  would  be  brought  against 
him  as  a  crime.  He  would  be  asked  where  he  obtained 
the  money  requisite  to  lavish  all  these  elegancies  on  me." 

The  detective  bowed,  and  said  :  "That  is  perfectly  true, 
madame." 

"  Then  I  must  fly  at  once  !  Who  knows  that  the  police 
are  not  already  warned,  and  may  appear  at  any  moment  ?" 


40  FILE  NO,  113. 

"  Oh,"  said  Fanferlot  with  easy  assurance,  "  you  have 
plenty  of  time  ;  the  police  are  not  so  very  prompt." 
"  No  matter  ! " 

And,  leaving  the  detective  alone  in  the  parlor,  Madame 
Nina  hastily  ran  into  her  bedroom,  and  calling  her  maid, 
her  cook,  and  her  little  footman,  ordered  them  to  empty 
her  drawers  and  wardrobe  of  their  contents,  and  assisted 
them  to  stuff  her  best  clothing  and  jewels  into  her  trunks. 
Suddenly  she  rushed  back  to  Fanferlot,  and  said  :  "  Every- 
thing will  be  ready  for  me  to  start  in  a  few  minutes ;  but 
where  am  I  to  go  ?  " 

"  Did  not  M.  Bertomy  say,  my  dear  lady,  to  the  other 
end  of  Paris  ?     To  a  hotel,  or  furnished  apartments." 

"  But  I  don't  know  where  to  find  any." 

Fanferlot  seemed  to  be  reflecting  ;  but  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  concealing  his  delight  at  a  sudden  idea  that 
flashed  upon  him  ;  his  little  black  eyes  fairly  danced  with 
joy.  "  I  know  a  hotel,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but  it  might  not 
suit  you.  It  is  not  elegantly  furnished  like  this  apart- 
ment." 

"  Should  I  be  comfortable  there  ? " 

**  Upon  my  recommendation  you  would  be  treated  like 
a  queen,  and,  above  all,  you  would  be  kept  concealed." 

''-  Where  is  it .? " 

"On  the  other  side  of  the  river,  on  the  Quai  Saint 
Michel.  It  is  called  the  Grand  Archangel,  and  is  kept  by 
Madame  Alexandre." 

Madame  Nina  was  never  long  making  up  her  mind. 
"  Here  are  pen  and  paper,"  said  she,  "  write  your  recom- 
mendation." 

Fanferlot  rapidly  wrote,  and  handed  her  the  letter,  say- 
ing, "  With  these  three  lines,  madame,  you  can  make 
Madame  Alexandre  do  anything  you  wish." 

"  Very  good.  Now,  how  am  I  to  let  Cavaillon  know  my 
address  .'*  It  was  he  who  should  have  brought  me  Pros- 
per's  letter." 

"  He  was  unable  to  come,  madame,"  interrupted  the 
detective  ;  "  but  I  will  give  him  your  address." 

Madame  Gipsy  was  about  to  send  for  a  carriage,  but 
Fanferlot  said  he  was  in  a  hurry  and  would  procure  her 
one.  He  seemed  to  be  in  luck  that  day  ;  for  a  cab  was 
passing  the  door,  and  he  hailed  it.  "  Wait  here,"  he  said 
to  the  driver,  after  telling  him  that  he  was  a  detective. 


FILE   'U  1 1  J.  41 

"  for  a  little  brunette  who  is  coming  down  with  some 
trunks.  If  she  tells  you  to  drive  her  to  the  Quai  Saint 
Michel,  crack  3'our  whip;  if  she  gives  you  any  other 
address,  get  down  from  your  box  and  arrange  your  harness. 
I  will  keep  in  sight." 

He  stepped  across  the  street,  and  stood  in  the  door  of 
a  wine-shop.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  loud  cracking  of  a  whip  apprised  him  that  Madame 
Nina  had  started  for  the  Hotel  of  the  Grand  Archangel, 
"Aha,"  said  he  gayly,  "  I  hold  her  at  any  rate." 


IV. 

At  the  same  hour  that  Madame  Nina  Gipsywas  seeking 
refuge  at  the  Grand  Archangel,  so  highly  recommended  by 
Fanferlot,  Prosper  Bertomy  was  being  consigned  to  the 
depot  of  the  Prefecture  of  Police.  From  the  moment  he 
had  resumed  his  habitual  composure,  he  never  once  fal- 
tered. Vainly  did  the  people  around  him  watch  for  a 
suspicious  expression,  or  any  sign  of  his  giving  way  under 
the  embarrassment  of  his  situation.  His  face  was  stolid  as 
marble,  and  one  would  have  supposed  him  insensible  to 
the  horrors  of  his  condition,  had  not  his  heavy  breathing, 
and  the  beads  of  perspiration  standing  on  his  brow,  be- 
trayed the  intense  agony  he  was  suffering. 

At  the  police  station,  where  Prosper  had  to  wait  for  two 
hours  while  the  commissary  went  to  receive  orders  from 
higher  authorities,  he  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
two  police  agents  w^ho  had  charge  of  him.  At  twelve 
o'clock  he  said  he  was  hungry,  and  sent  to  a  restaurant 
near  by  for  his  lunch,  which  he  ate  with  a  good  appetite, 
and  also  drank  nearly  a  bottle  of  wine.  While  he  was  thus 
occupied,  several  clerks  from  the  Prefecture,  who  have  to 
transact  business  daily  with  the  commissaries  of  police, 
eyed  him  curiously.  They  all  formed  the  same  opinion, 
and  admiringly  said  to  each  other  :  "  Well,  he  is  certainly 
made  of  strong  stuff,  that  fellow  !  "  And  again  :  "  The 
young  gentleman  doesn't  seem  to  care  much.  He  has 
evidently  something  in  reserve." 

When  he  was  told  that  a  cab  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
door,  he  at  once  rose  ;  but,  before  going  Dut,  requested 
permission  to  light  a  cigar,  which  was  granted  him.    A 


42  FILE  NO.  113. 

flowef-girl  stood  just  by  the  door,  and  he  stopped  and 
bought  a  bunch  of  violets  of  her.  The  girl,  seeing  that  he 
was  arrested,  said,  by  way  of  thanks  :  "  Good  luck  to  you, 
my  poor  gentleman  !  " 

Prosper  appeared  touched  by  this  mark  of  interest,  and 
replied  :  "  Thanks,  my  good  girl,  but  'tis  a  long  time  since 
luck  has  been  in  my  way." 

It  was  magnificent  weather,  a  bright  spring  morning. 
As  the  cab  went  along  the  Rue  Montmartre,  Prosper  kept^ 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  smilingly  complaining  at  the 
same  time  at  being  imprisoned  on  such  a  lovely  day,  when 
everything  outside  was  so  sunny  and  pleasant.  "  It  is 
singular,"  he  said  :  "  I  never  felt  so  great  a  desire  to  take 
a  walk." 

One  of  the  police  agents,  a  large,  jovial,  red-faced  man, 
received  this  remark  with  a  hearty  burst  of  laughter,  and 
said  :  "  I  understand." 

While  Prosper  was  going  through  the  formalities  of  the 
commitment,  he  replied  with  haughty  brevity  to  the  indis- 
pensable questions  that  were  put  to  him.  But  after  being 
ordered  to  empty  his  pockets  on  the  table,  they  began  to 
search  him,  his  eyes  flashed  with  indignation,  and  a  single 
tear  coursed  down  his  flushed  cheek.  In  an  instant  he 
had  recovered  his  stony  calmness,  and  stood  up  motionless, 
with  his  arms  raised  in  the  air  so  that  the  rough  creatures 
about  him  could  more  conveniently  ransack  him  from  head 
to  foot,  to  assure  themselves  that  he  had  no  suspicious 
object  concealed  under  his  clothes. 

The  search  would  have,  perhaps,  been  carried  to  th<l 
most  ignominious  lengths,  but  for  the  intervention  of  a 
middle-aged  man  of  rather  distinguished  appearance,  who 
wore  a  white  cravat  and  gold  spectacles,  and  was  sitting 
at  his  ease  by  the  fire.  He  started  with  surprise,  and 
seemed  much  agitated,  when  he  saw  Prosper  brought  in 
by  the  officers ;  he  stepped  forward,  as  if  about  to  speak 
to  him,  then  suddenly  changed  his  mind,  and  sat  down 
again. 

In  spite  of  his  own  troubles.  Prosper  could  not  help 
perceiving  that  this  man  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  him. 
Did  he  know  him  ?  Vainly  did  he  try  to  recollect  having 
met  him  before.  This  individual,  treated  with  all  the 
deference  due  to  a  chief,  was  no  less  a  personage  than  M. 
Lecoq,   a  celebrated   member   of  the    detective    police' 


FILE  NO.  113.  43 

When  the  men  who  were  searching  Prosper  were  about  to 
take  off  his  boots,  under  the  idea  that  a  knife  might  be 
concealed  in  them,  M.  Lecoq  waved  them  aside  with  an 
air  of  authority,  and  said  :  "You  have  done  enough." 

He  was  obeyed.  All  the  formalities  being  ended,  the 
unfortunate  cashier  was  taken  to  a  narrow  cell ;  the 
heavily-barred  door  was  swung  to  and  locked  upon  him  ;  he 
breathed  freely ;  at  last  he  was  alone.  Yes,  he  believed 
himself  to  be  alone.  He  was  ignorant  that  a  prison  is 
made  of  glass,  that  the  prisoner  is  like  a  miserable  insect 
under  the  microscope  of  an  entomologist.  He  knew  not 
that  the  walls  have  listening  ears  and  watchful  eyes.  He 
felt  so  certain  of  being  alone  that  he  at  once  gave  vent  to 
his  suppressed  feelings,  and,  dropping  his  mask  of  impas- 
sibility, burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  His  long-restrained 
anger  now  flashed  out  like  a  smouldering  fire.  In  a 
paroxysm  of  rage  he  uttered  imprecations  and  curses.  He 
dashed  himself  against  the  prison-walls  like  a  wild  beast 
in  a  cage. 

Prosper  Bertomy  was  not  the  man  he  appeared  to  be. 
This  haughty,  correct  gentleman  had  ardent  passions  and 
a  fiery  temperament.  One  day,  when  he  was  about  twenty- 
four  years  of  age,  he  had  become  suddenly  fired  by  ambi- 
tion. While  all  of  his  desires  were  repressed — imprisoned  in 
his  low  estate,  like  an  athlete  in  a  straight-waistcoat,  see- 
ing around  him  all  those  rich  people  with  whom  money 
served  the  purpose  of  the  wand  in  the  fairy-tale,  he  envied 
them  their  lot. 

He  studied  the  beginnings  of  these  financial  princes, 
and  found  that  at  the  starting-point  they  possessed  far  less 
than  himself.  How,  then,  had  they  succeeded.^  By  the 
force  of  energy,  industry,  and  assurance.  He  determined 
to  imitate  and  excel  them. 

From  that  day,  with  a  force  of  will  much  less  rare  than 
we  think,  he  imposed  silence  upon  his  instincts.  He  re- 
formed not  his  character,  but  the  outside  of  his  character ; 
and  his  efforts  were  not  without  success.  Those  who 
knew  him  had  faith  in  his  character;  and  his  capabilities 
and  ambition  inspired  the  prophecy  that  he  would  be  suc- 
cessful in  attaining  eminence  and  wealth. 

And  the  end  of  all  was  this — to  be  imprisoned  for  rob- 
bery ;  that  is  ruined  ! 

For  he  did  not  attempt  to  deceive  himiSeli.     He  knew 


44  FILE  NO.  113. 

that,  guilty  or  innocent,  a  man  once  suspected  is  as  ineffac* 
bly  branded  as  the  shoulder  of  a  galley-slave.  Therefore, 
what  was  the  use  of  struggling  ?  What  benefit  was  a 
triumph  which  could  not  wash  out  the  stain  ? 

When  the  prison  attendant  brought  him  his  supper,  he 
found  him  lying  on  his  mattress,  with  his  face  buried  in 
the  pillow,  weeping  bitterly.  Ah,  he  was  not  hungry  now  ! 
Now  that  he  was  alone,  he  fed  upon  his  own  bitter 
thoughts.  He  sank  from  a  state  of  frenzy  into  one  of 
stupefying  despair,  and  vainly  did  he  endeavor  to  clear 
his  confused  mind,  and  account  for  the  dark  cloud  gather- 
ing about  him ;  no  loop-hole  for  escape  could  he  discover. 

The  night  was  long  and  terrible,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  had  nothing  to  count  the  hours  by,  as  they  slowly 
dragged  on,  but  the  measured  tread  of  the  patrol  who 
came  to  relieve  the  sentinels.  He  was  now  thoroughly 
wretched. 

At  dawn  he  dropped  into  a  sleep,  a  heavy,  oppressive 
sleep,  which  was  more  wearisome. than  refreshing;  from 
which  he  was  startled  by  the  rough  voice  of  the  jailer. 

"  Come,  sir ! "  said  he,  "  it  is  time  for  you  to  appear  be- 
fore the  investigating  magistrate." 

Prosper  jumped  up  at  once,  and,  without  stopping  to  set 
right  his  disordered  toilet,  said  :  "  I  am  ready,  lead  the 
way." 

The  jailer  remarked  as  they  walked  along:  "You  are 
very  fortunate  in  having  your  case  brought  before  a  very 
worthy  man."     He  was  right. 

Endowed  with  remarkable  penetration,  firm,  unbiased, 
equally  free  from  false  pity  and  excessive  severity,  M. 
Patrigent  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  all  the  qualities 
necessary  for  the  delicate  and  arduous  office  of  investiga- 
ting  magistrate.  Perhaps  he  was  wanting  in  the  feverish 
activity  which  is  sometimes  necessary  for  coming  to  a  quick 
and  just  decision  ;  but  he  possessed  unwearying  patience, 
which  nothing  could  discourage.  He  would  cheerfully 
devote  years  to  the  examination  of  a  case ;  he  was  even 
now  engaged  in  an  affair  of  Belgian  bank-notes,  of  which 
he  did  not  collect  all  the  threads,  and  solve  the  mystery, 
until  after  four  years  investigation.  Thus  it  was  always  to 
him  that  they  brought  the  endless  proceedings,  the  half- 
finished  inquiries,  and  the  incomplete  processes. 

This  was  the  man  before  whom  Prosper  was  being  coiy 


BILE  NO.  113.  45 

ducted,  and  he  was  certainly  taken  by  a  difficult  road.  He 
was  escorted  along  a  corridor,  through  a  room  full  of  po- 
lice agents,  down  a  narrow  flight  of  steps,  across  a  kind  of 
vault,  and  then  up  a  steep  staircase  which  seemed  to  have 
no  end.  Finally,  he  reached  a  long  narrow  gallery,  on 
which  opened  numerous  doors,  bearing  different  numbers. 
The  custodian  of  the  unhappy  cashier  stopped  before  one 
of  these  doers,  and  said :  "  Here  we  are,  and  here  your 
fate  will  be  decided." 

At  this  remark,  uttered  in  a  tone  of  deep  commiseration, 
Prosper  could  not  refrain  from  shuddering.  It  was  only 
too  true,  that  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  was  a  man  who 
would  interrogate  him,  and  according  to  his  answers  would 
either  release  him  from  custody  or  commit  him  for  trial. 
Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  turned  to  the  door-handle, 
and  was  about  to  enter,  when  the  jailer  stopped  him. 
"  Don't  be  in  such  haste,"  he  said ;  "  you  must  sit  down 
here  and  wait  till  your  turn  comes ;  then  you  will  be 
called."  The  wretched  man  obeyed,  and  his  keeper  took 
a  seat  beside  him. 

Nothing  is  more  doleful  and  terrible  than  having  to  wait 
~'X\  this  gloomy  gallery  of  the  investigating  magistrates. 
Occupying  the  entire  length  of  the  wall  is  a  wooden  bench 
blackened  by  constant  use.  This  bench  has  for  the  last 
ten  years  been  daily  occupied  by  the  m.urderers,  thieves, 
and  suspicious  characters  of  the  department  of  the  Seine. 
Sooner  or  later,  as  filth  rushes  to  a  sewer,  does  crime  reach 
this  dreadful  gallery  with  one  door  opening  on  the  galleys, 
the  other  on  the  scaffold.  This  place  was  bitterly  though 
vulgarly  denominated  by  a  certain  magistrate  as  the  great 
public  wash-house  of  all  the  foul  linen  in  Paris.  When 
Prosper  reached  the  gallery  it  was  full  of  people.  The 
bench  was  almost  entirely  occupied.  Close  beside  him, 
so  as  to  touch  his  shoulder,  sat  a  man  with  a  sinister  count- 
enance, dressed  in  rags. 

Before  each  door,  giving  access  to  the  offices  of  the  in* 
vestigating  magistrates,  stood  groups  of  witnesses  convers- 
ing in  an  undertone.  Gendarmes  were  constantly  arriving 
and  departing  with  prisoners.  Sometimes,  above  the  noise 
of  their  heavy  tramping  along  the  flagstones,  a  woman's 
stifled  sob  might  be  heard,  when,  looking  around,  you 
would  see  some  poor  mother  or  wife  with  her  face  buried 
in  her  handkerchief,  weeping  bitterly.     At  short  intervals 


46  FILE  NO.  113. 

a  door  would  open  and  shut,  when  an  officer  would  call  out 
a  name  or  number. 

The  stifling  atmosphere,  and  the  sight  of  so  much 
misery  made  Prosper  feel  ill  and  faint;  he  felt  as  if 
another  five  minutes'  stay  among  these  wretched  creatures 
would  make  him  deathly  sick,  when  a  little  old  man 
dressed  in  black,  wearing  a  steel  chain,  the  insignia  of  his 
office,  cried  out :  "  Prosper  Bertomy  !  " 

The  unhappy  man  rose,  and,  without  knowing  how, 
found  himself  in  the  room  of  the  investigating  magistrate. 
For  a  moment  he  was  blinded.  He  had  come  out  of  a 
dark  passage ;  and  the  room  in  which  he  now  found  him- 
self had  a  window  directly  opposite  the  door,  so  that  a 
flood  of  light  streamed  suddenly  upon  him.  This  room, 
■dke  all  the  others  in  the  gallery,  was  of  very  ordinary  ap- 
pearance, and  small  and  dingy.  The  wall  was  covered 
with  a  cheap  dark  paper,  and  on  the  floor  was  a  hideous 
brown  carpet,  very  much  worn.  Opposite  the  door  was  a 
large  writing-table  strewn  with  bundles  of  papers,  furnish- 
ing the  antecedents  of  those  persons  who  were  subjected 
to  examinations,  and  behind  was  seated  the  magistrate, 
immediately  facing  those  who  entered,  so  that  his  counte- 
nance remained  in  the  shade,  while  that  of  the  prisoner 
or  witness  whom  he  questioned  was  in  a  glare  of  light. 

'  Before  a  little  table,  on  the  right,  sat  a  clerk,  the  indis- 
pensable auxiliary  of  the  magistrate,  engaged  in  writing. 

But  Prosper  observed  none  of  these  details  :  his  whole 
attention  was  concentrated  upon  the  arbiter  of  his  fate, 
and  as  he  closely  examined  his  face  he  was  convinced  that 
the  jailer  was  right  in  styling  him  an  honorable  man. 
M.  Patrigent's  homely  face,  with  its  irregular  outline  and 
short  red  whiskers,  lit  up  by  a  pair  of  bright,  intelligent 
eyes,  and  a  kindly  expression,  was  calculated  to  impress 
one  favorably  at  first  sight.  "  Take  a  chair,"  he  said  to 
Prosper. 

This  little  attention  was  gratefully  welcomed  by  the  pris= 
oner,  for  he  had  expected  to  be  treated  with  harsh  con- 
tempt. He  looked  upon  it  as  a  good  sign,  and  his  mind 
felt  a  slight  relief.  M.  Patrigent  turned  towards  the  clerk, 
and  said  :  "  We  will  begin  now,  Sigault ;  pay  attention." 

Looking  at  Prosper,  he  then  asked  him  his  name. 

"  Auguste  Prosper  Bertomy,"  replied  the  cashier. 

**  How  old  are  you  ?  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  Ap 

"  I  shall  be  thirty  on  the  fifth  of  next  May." 

"What  is  your  profession  ?  " 

"  I  am — that  is,  I  was — chief  cashier  in  M.  Andre  Fau- 
vel's  bank." 

The  magistrate  stopped  to  consult  a  little  memorandum 
book  lying  on  his  desk.  Prosper,  who  followed  closely 
his  every  movement,  began  to  be  hopeful,  saying  to  hi—,- 
self  that  never  would  a  man  seemingly  so  unprejudiced  be 
cruel  enough  to  send  him  to  prison  again.  After  finding 
what  he  looked  for,  M.  Patrigent  resumed  the  examina- 
tion.    "  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  No.  39,  Rue  Chaptal,  for  the  last  four  years.  Be- 
fore that  time  I  lived  at  No.  7.  Boulevard  des  BatignoUes." 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"At  Beaucaire,  in  the  department  of  Le  Gard." 

"  Are  your  parents  living  ?  " 

"  My  mother  died  two  years  ago  ;  my  father  is  still  liv- 
ing." 

"  Does  he  reside  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  lives  at  Beaucaire  with  my  sister,  who  mar- 
ried one  of  the  en2:ineers  of  the  Southern  canal."  It  was 
in  broken  accents  that  Prosper  answered  these  last  ques- 
tions. Though  there  are  moments  in  the  life  of  a  man 
when  home  memories  encourage  and  console  him,  there 
are  also  moments  when  he  would  be  thankful  to  be  with- 
out a  single  tie,  when  he  bitterly  regrets  that  he  is  not 
alone  in  the  world. 

M.  Patrigent  observed  the  prisoner's  emotion  when  he 
spoke  of  his  parents.  "  What  is  your  father's  calling  ?  " 
he  continued. 

"  He  was  formerly  a  superintendent  of  roads  and 
bridges ;  then  he  was  employed  on  the  Southern  canal  like 
my  brother-in-law ;  now  he  has  retired  on  a  pension." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  magistrate  had 
turned  his  chair  round,  so  that,  although  his  head  was  ap- 
parently averted,  he  had  a  good  view  of  the  workings  of 
Prosper's  countenance.  "  Well,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  you 
are  accused  of  having  robbed  M.  Fauvel  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

During  the  last  twenty-four  hours  the  wretched  young 
man  had  had  time  to  familiarize  himself  with  the  terrible 
idea  of  this  accusation ;  and  yet,  uttered  as  it  was  now  in 
this  formal  brief  tone,  it  seemed  to  strike  him  with  a  hor« 


4$  FILE  NO.  113. 

ror  which  rendered  him  incapable  of  opening  his  lips. 
"  What  have  you  to  answer  ?  "  asked  the  investigating  mag< 
istrate. 

"  That  I  am  innocent,  sir  ;  I  swear  that  I  am  innocent !  " 

"I  hope  you  are,"  said  M.  Patrigent,  "and  you  may 
count  upon  me  to  assist  you,  to  the  extent  of  my  ability, 
in  proving  your  innocence.  You  must  have  some  facts  to 
allege  in  your  defence,  some  proofs  you  can  furnish  me 
with." 

*'  Ah,  sir,  what  can  I  say  when  I  a«n  myself  unable  to 
understand  this  dreadful  business  ?  I  can  only  refer  you 
to  my  past  life." 

The  magistrate  interrupted  him  :  "  Let  us  be  specific  ; 
the  robbery  was  committed  under  circumstances  that  pre- 
vent suspicion  from  falling  upon  any  one  but  M.  Fauvel 
and  yourself.     Do  you  suspect  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  You  declare  yourself  to  be  innocent,  therefore  the 
guilty  party  must  be  M.  Fauvel."  Prosper  remained  si- 
lent. "  Have  you,"  persisted  the  magistrate,  "  any  cause 
for  believing  that  M.  Fauvel  robbed  himself  ?  "  The  pris- 
oner preserved  a  rigid  silence. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  that  you  need  time  for 
reflection.  Listen  to  the  reading  of  your  examination,  and 
after  signing  it  you  will  return  to  prison." 

The  unhappy  man  was  overcome.  The  last  ray  of  hope 
was  gone.  He  heard  nothing  of  what  Sigault  read,  and 
he  signed  the  paper  without  looking  at  it.  He  tottered  as 
he  left  the  magistrate's  room,  so  that  the  agent  who  had 
him  in  charge  was  forced  to  support  him.  **  I  fear  your 
case  looks  bad,"  said  the  man,  "  but  don't  be  disheartened  ; 
keep  up  your  courage." 

Courage  !  Prosper  had  not  a  spark  of  it  when  he  re- 
turned to  his  cell ;  but  his  heart  was  filled  with  anger  and 
resentment.  He  had  determined  that  he  would  defend 
himself  before  the  magistrate,  that  he  would  prove  his  in^ 
nocence ;  and  he  had  not  had  time  to  do  so.  He  re- 
proached himself  bitterly  for  having  trusted  to  the  magis- 
trate's benevolent  face.  "  What  a  farce,"  he  angrily  ex- 
claimed, "  to  call  that  an  examination  ! " 

It  was  not  really  an  examination  that  Prosper  had  been 
subjected  to,  but  a  mere  formality.  In  summoning  him, 
M»  Patrigent  obeyed  Article  93  of  the  Criminal  Code,  which 


FILE  NO.  113.  49 

says,  "  Every  suspected  person  under  arrest  must  be  ex- 
amined within  twenty-four  hours."  But  it  is  not  in  twenty- 
four  hours,  especially  in  a  case  like  this,  with  no  evidence 
or  material  proof,  that  a  magistrate  can  collect  the  mate- 
rials for  an  examination.  To  triumph  over  the  obstinate 
defence  of  a  prisoner  who  shuts  himself  up  in  absolute  de- 
nial as  though  in  a  fortress,  valid  proofs  are  needed. 
These  weapons  M.  Patrigent  was  busily  preparing. 

If  Prosper  had  remained  a  little  longer  in  the  gallery, 
he  would  have  seen  the  same  official  who  had  called  him 
come  from  the  magistrate's  room,  and  cry  out,  No.  3.  The 
witness  who  was  awaiting  his  turn,  and  answered  the  call 
for  No.  3,  was  M.  Fauvel. 

The  banker  was  no  longer  the  same  man.  Yesterday  he 
was  kind  and  affable  in  his  manner ;  now,  as  he  entered 
the  magistrate's  room,  he  seemed  irritated  against  his  cash- 
ier. Reflection,  which  usually  brings  calmness  and  a  de- 
sire to  pardon,  had  in  his  case  led  to  anger  and  a  thirst 
for  vengeance.  The  inevitable  questions  which  commence 
every  examination  had  scarcely  been  addressed  to  him  be- 
fore his  impetuous  temper  gained  the  mastery,  and  he 
burst  forth  in  invectives  against  Prosper. 

M.  Patrigent  was  obliged  to  impose  silence  upon  the 
banker,  reminding  him  of  what  was  due  to  himself,  no 
matter  what  wrongs  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  his 
clerk.  Although  he  had  very  slightly  examined  Prosper, 
the  magistrate  was  now  scrupulously  attentive  and  partic- 
ular in  having  every  question  answered.  Prosper's  exam- 
ination had  been  a  m.ere  formality,  the  verifying  of  a  pos- 
itive fact.  M.  Patrigent  now  occupied  himself  in  ferreting 
out  all  the  attendant  circumstances  and  the  most  trifling 
particulars,  in  order  to  group  them  together,  and  arrive  at 
a  just  conclusion. 

"  Let  us  proceed  with  regularity,"  said  the  magistrate 
to  M.  Fauvel,  "  and  pray  confine  yourself  to  answering  my 
questions.  Did  you  ever  suspect  your  cashier  of  being 
dishonest?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Yet  there  were  reasons  which  should 
have  made  me  hesitate  to  trust  him." 

*'  What  reasons  ?  " 

"  M.  Bertomy  gambled.  I  have  known  of  his  spending 
whole  nights  at  the  card-table,  and  losing  large  sums  of 
money.  He  was  intimate  with  an  unprincipled  set.  Once 
4 


50  FILE  J^O,  113. 

he  was  mixed  up  with  one  of  my  customers,  M.  de  Cia« 
meran,  in  a  scandalous  gambling  affair  at  the  house  of  some 
disreputable  woman,  and  which  ended  in  an  investigation 
at  the  police  court." 

For  some  minutes  the  banker  continued  to  revile  Pros- 
per. "  You  must  confess,  sir,"  interrupted  the  magistrate, 
"  that  you  were  very  imprudent,  if  not  culpable,  to  have 
entrusted  the  contents  of  your  safe  to  such  a  man." 

"  Ah,  sir.  Prosper  was  not  always  thus.  Until  the  past  year 
he  was  a  perfect  model  for  men  of  his  age.  He  frequented 
my  house  as  one  of  my  family  ;  he  spent  all  of  his  even- 
ings with  us,  and  was  the  bosom  friend  of  my  eldest  son 
Lucien.  One  day  he  suddenly  left  us,  and  never  came  to 
the  house  again.  Yet  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  him 
to  be  attached  to  my  niece  Madeleine." 

M.  Patrigent  had  an  odd  way  of  contracting  his  brows 
when  he  thought  he  had  discovered  some  new  proof.  He 
now  did  this,  and  said  :  '  Might  not  this  admiration  for 
the  young  lady  have  been  the  cause  of  M.  Bertomy's  es- 
trangement .-*  " 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  the  banker  with  surprise.  "  I  was 
willing  to  bestow  Madeleine's  hand  upon  him,  and  to  be 
frank,  was  astonishing  that  he  did  not  ask  for  her  in 
marriage.  My  niece  would  be  a  good  match  for  any  man, 
and  he  should  have  considered  himself  fortunate  in  obtain- 
ing her.  She  is  very  handsome,  and  her  dowry  will  be 
half  a  million." 

"  Then  you  can  discover  no  motive  for  your  cashier's 
conduct  ? " 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  account  for  it.  I  have, 
however,  always  supposed  that  Prosper  was  led  astray  by 
a  young  man  whom  he  met  at  my  house  about  that  time, 
M.  Raoul  de  Lagors." 

"  Ah !  and  who  is  this  young  man  ?  " 

"  A  relative  of  my  wife's  ;  a  very  attractive,  intelligent 
young  man,  somewhat  wild,  but  rich  enough  to  pay  for  his 
follies." 

The  magistrate  wrote  the  name  Lagors  at  the  bottom  of 
an  already  long  list  on  his  memoranda.  "  Now,"  he  said, 
"  let  us  come  to  the  point.  You  are  sure  that  the  theft 
was  not  committed  by  any  one  of  your  household  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  sir." 

*'  You  always  kept  your  key  ?  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  51 

"  I  generally  carried  it  about  on  my  person  ;  and  when- 
ever I  left  it  at  home,  I  placed  it  in  the  drawer  of  the  secre- 
tary in  my  bedroom." 

"  Where  was  it  on  the  evening  of  the  robbery  ?  " 

"  In  my  secretary." 

*  But  then — " 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  M.  Fauvel, 
"  and  permit  me  to  tell  you  that,  to  a  safe  like  mine,  the 
key  is  of  no  importance.  To  open  it,  one  must  know  the 
word  upon  which  the  five  movable  buttons  turn.  With 
the  word  one  can  even  open  it  without  the  key ;  but  with- 
out the  word — " 

"  And  you  never  told  this  word  to  any  one  ?  " 

"To  no  one,  sir,  and  sometimes  I  should  have  been 
puzzled  to  know  myself  with  what  word  the  safe  had  been 
closed.  Prosper  would  change  it  when  he  chose,  and  then 
inform  me  of  the  change,  but  I  often  forgot  it." 

"  Had  you  forgotten  it  on  the  day  of  the  theft  ? " 

"  No  ;  the  word  had  been  changed  the  day  before  ;  and 
its  peculiarity  struck  me." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Gipsy — g,  i,  p,  s,  y,"  said  the  banker,  spelling  the 
name. 

M.  Patrigent  wrote  down  this  name.  "  One  more  ques- 
tion, sir,"  said  he,  "  were  you  at  home  the  evening  before 
the  robbery  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  dined  and  spent  the  evening  with  a  friend ; 
when  I  returned  home,  about  one  o'clock,  my  wife  had  re- 
tired, and  I  went  to  bed  immediately." 

"  And  you  were  not  aware  of  the  amount  of  money  in 
the  safe  ?  " 

"  Absolutely.  In  conformity  with  my  positive  orders,  I 
could  only  suppose  that  a  small  sum  had  been  left  there 
over  night ;  I  stated  this  fact  to  the  commissary  in  M. 
Bertomy's  presence,  and  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  the 
case." 

"  It  is  perfectly  correct,  sir  :  the  commissary's  report 
proves  it."  M.  Patrigent  was  for  a  time  silent.  To  him 
everything  depended  upon  this  one  fact,  <"hat  the  banker 
was  unaware  of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  being  in  the  safe,  and  Prosper  had  disobeyed  orders 
by  placing  them  there  over  night ;  hence  the  conclusion 
was  very  easily  drawn. 


ij2  FILE  NO.  i\%. 

Seeing  that  his  examination  was  over,  -the  bankei 
thought  he  would  relieve  his  mind  of  what  was  weighing 
upon  it.  "I  believe  myself  above  suspicion,  sir,"  he  be- 
gan, "  and  yet  I  can  never  rest  easy  until  Bertomy's  guilt 
has  been  clearly  proved.  Calumny  prefers  attacking  a 
successful  man,  and  I  may  be  calumniated  :  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  is  a  fortune  capable  of  tempting 
even  a  rich  man.  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  have 
the  condition  of  my  affairs  strictly  examined.  This  exam- 
ination will  prove  that  I  could  have  had  no  interest  in 
robbing  my  own  safe.     The  prosperous  condition — " 

"  That  is  sufficient,  sir." 

M.  Patrigent  was  already  well  informed  of  the  high 
standing  of  the  banker,  and  knew  almost  as  much  of  his 
affairs  as  M.  Fauvel  himself.  He  asked  him  to  sign  his 
testimony,  and  then  escorted  him  to  the  door  of  his  office, 
a  rare  favor  on  his  part. 

When  M.  Fauvel  had  left  the  room,  Sigault  indulged  in 
a  remark.  "  This  seems  to  be  a  very  cloudy  case,"  he 
said  ;  "  if  the  cashier  is  shrewd  and  firm,  it  will  be  difficult 
to  convict  h'im." 

"  Perhaps  it  will,"  said  the  magistrate  ;  "  but  let  us  hear 
what  the  other  witnesses  have  to  say." 

The  person  who  answered  to  the  call  for  No.  4  was 
Lucien,  M.  Fauvel's  eldest  son.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome 
young  man  of  twenty-two.  To  the  magistrate's  questions 
he  replied  that  he  was  very  fond  of  Prosper,  was  once  very 
intimate  with  him,  and  had  always  regarded  him  as  a 
Strictly  honorable  man,  incapable  of  doing  anything  un- 
becoming a  gentleman.  He  declared  that  he  could  not 
imagine  what  fatal  circumstances  could  have  induced  Pros- 
per to  commit  a  theft.  He  knew  that  he  played  cards, 
but  not  to  the  extent  that  was  reported.  He  had  never 
known  him  to  indulge  in  expenses  beyond  his  means. 
In  regard  to  his  cousin  Madeleine,  he  replied  :  "  I  always 
thought  that  Prosper  was  in  love  with  Madeleine,  and,  un- 
til  yesterday,  I  was  certain  he  would  marry  her,  knowing 
that  my  father  would  not  oppose  their  union.  I  have  al- 
ways attributed  the  discontinuance  of  Prosper's  visits  to  a 
quarrel  with  my  cousin,  but  supposed  they  would  ulti- 
mately become  reconciled." 

This  information  threw  more  light  upon  Prosper's  pasi 
life,  than  that  furnished  by  M.  Fauvel,  but  did  not  ap* 


FILE  NO.  113.  53 

parently  disclose  any  evidence  which  coiM  t)e  used  in  the 
present  state  of  aifaiis.  Lucien  signed  his  deposition, 
and  withdrew. 

Cavailion's  turn  for  examination  came  next.  The  poor 
fellow  was  in  a  pitiable  state  of  mind  when  he  appeared 
before  the  magistrate.  Having  confided  to  a  friend  his 
adventure  with  the  detective,  as  a  great  secret,  and  being 
jeered  at  for  his  cowardice  in  giving  up  the  note,  he  felt 
great  remorse,  and  passed  the  night  in  reproaching  him- 
self for  having  ruined  Prosper.  He  endeavored  to  repair, 
as  well  as  he  could,  what  he  called  his  treason.  He  did 
not  exactly  accuse  M.  Fauvel,  but  he  courageously  de- 
clared that  he  was  the  cashier's  friend,  and  that  he  was  as 
certain  of  his  innocence  as  he  was  of  his  own.  Unfortu- 
nately, besides  having  no  proofs  to  strengthen  his  asser- 
tions, the  latter  were  deprived  of  most  of  their  value  by 
his  violent  professions  of  friendship  for  the  accused. 

After  Cavaillon,  six  or  eight  clerks  of  Fauvel's  bank 
successively  defiled  in  the  magistrate's  room ;  but  their 
depositions  were  nearly  all  insignificant.  One  of  them, 
however,  stated  a  fact  which  the  magistrate  carefully 
noted.  He  said  he  knew  that  Prosper  had  speculated  on 
the  Bourse  through  the  medium  of  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors, 
and  had  gained  immense  sums.  Five  o'clock  struck  be- 
fore the  list  of  witnesses  summoned  for  the  day  was 
exhausted.  But  M.  Patrigent's  task  was  not  yet  finished. 
He  rang  for  his  attendant,  who  instantly  appeared,  when 
he  said  to  him  :  "  Go  at  once  and  bring  Fanferlot." 

It  was  some  time  before  the  detective  answered  the 
summons.  Having  met  a  colleague  in  the  galleiy,  he 
thought  it  his  duty  to  treat  him  ;  and  the  official  had  to 
fetch  him  from  the  wine-shop  at  the  corner. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  keep  people  waiting  ?  "  said  the 
magistrate,  when  the  detective  entered  bowing  and  scrap- 
ing. Fanferlot  bowed  more  profoundly  still.  Despite  his 
smiling  face,  he  was  very  uneasy.  To  unravel  the  Ber- 
tomy  case  alone,  it  was  requisite  to  play  a  double  game 
that  might  be  discovered  at  any  moment.  In  serving  at 
the  same  time  the  cause  of  justice  and  his  own  ambition, 
he  ran  great  risks,  the  least  of  which  was  the  losing  of  his 
place. 

"  I  have  had  a  great  deal  to  do,"  he  said,  to  excuse 
himself,  "  and  have  not  wasted  any  time."     And  he  began 


54  FILE  NO.  113. 

to  give  a  detailed  account  of  his  movements.  He  was 
embarrassed,  for  he  spoke  with  all  sorts  of  restrictions, 
picking  out  what  was  to  be  said,  and  avoiding  what  was 
to  be  left  unsaid.  Thus  he  gave  the  history  of  Cavaillon's 
letter,  which  he  handed  to  the  magistrate  ;  but  he  did  not 
breathe  a  word  of  Madeleine.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
furnished  minute  biographical  details  of  Prosper  and 
Madame  Gipsy,  which  he  had  collected  from  various 
quarters  during  the  day. 

As  the  detective  progressed,  M.  Patrigent's  conviction 
was  strengthened.  "  This  young  man  is  evidently  guilty," 
he  murmured.  Fanferlot  did  not  reply;  his  opinion  was 
different,  but  he  was  delighted  that  the  magistrate  was  on 
the  wrong  track,  thinking  that  his  own  glorification  would 
thereby  be  the  greater  when  he  discovered  the  real  culprit. 
True,  this  grand  discovery  was  as  far  off  as  it  had  ever 
been. 

After  hearing  all  he  had  to  say,  the  magistrate  dismissed 
Fanferlot,  telling  him  to  return  the  next  day.  "Above 
all,"  he  said,  as  Fanferlot  left  the  room,  "  do  not  lose  sight 
of  ♦the  woman  Gipsy ;  she  must  know  where  the  money  is, 
and  can  put  us  on  the  right  scent." 

Fanferlot  smiled  cunningly.  "  You  may  rest  easy  about 
that,  sir,"  replied  he ;  "  the  lady  is  in  good  hands." 

Left  to  himself,  although  the  evening  was  far  advanced, 
M.  Patrigent  continued  to  busy  himself  with  the  case,  and 
to  arrange  for  the  rest  of  the  depositions  being  taken. 
The  affair  had  obtained  complete  possession  of  his  mind  ; 
it  was,  at  the  same  time,  puzzling  and  attractive.  It 
seemed  to  be  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  mystery,  which  he 
determined  to  penetrate  and  dispel. 

The  next  morning  he  was  in  his  room  much  earlier  tlian 
usual.  On  this  day  he  examined  Madame  Gipsy,  recalled 
Cavaillon,  and  sent  again  for  M.  Fauvel.  For  several 
days  he  displayed  the  same  activity.  Of  all  the  witnesses 
summoned,  only  two  failed  to  appear.  One  was  the 
messenger  sent  by  Prosper  to  bring  the  money  from  the 
Bank  of  France,  and  who  was  ill  from  a  fall.  The  other 
was  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors.  But  their  absence  did  not  pre- 
vent the  memoranda  relating  to  Prosper's  case  from  daily 
increasing  ;  and  on  the  ensuing  Monday,  five  days  after 
the  robbery,  M.  Patrigent  thought  he  held  in  his  hands 
enough  moral  proof  to  crush  the  accused. 


FILE  NO.  113.  55 


V. 

While  his  whole  past  was  the  object  of  the  most  minute 
investigations,  Prosper  was  in  prison,  in  solitary  confine- 
ment. The  two  first  days  had  not  appeared  very  long  to 
him.  He  had  requested,  and  been  supplied  with  some 
sheets  of  paper,  numbered,  for  they  had  to  be  accounted 
for ;  and  he  wrote,  with  a  sort  of  fury,  plans  of  defence 
and  a  narrative  of  justification. 

The  third  day  he  began  to  feel  uneasy  at  not  seeing  any 
one  except  the  condemned  prisoners  employed  to  serve 
those  undergoing  solitary  confinement,  and  the  jailer  who 
brought  him  his  food.  "  Am  I  not  to  be  examined  again  ?  " 
he  would  ask. 

"Your  turn  is  coming,"  the  jailer  invariably  answered. 

Time  passed ;  and  the  wretched  man,  tortured  by  the 
sufferings  of  solitary  confinement  which  quickly  breaks  the 
spirit,  sank  into  the  depths  of  despair.  "Am  I  to  stay 
here  forever  ?  "  he  moaned. 

No,  he  was  not  forgotten ;  for  on  the  Monday  mornmg, 
at  one  o'clock,  an  hour  when  the  jailer  never  came,  he 
heard  the  heavy  bolt  of  his  cell  pushed  back.  He  ran 
towards  the  door.  But  the  sight  of  a  gray-headed  man 
standing  there  rooted  him  to  the  spot.  "  Father,"  he 
gasped,  "father !" 

"  Your  father,  yes  !  " 

Prosper's  astonishment  at  seeing  his  father  was  instantly 
succeeded  by  a  feeling  of  great  joy.  A  father  is  the  one 
friend  upon  whom  we  can  always  rely.  In  the  hour  of 
need,  when  all  else  fails,  we  remember  him  upon  whos» 
knees  we  sat  when  children,  and  who  soothed  our  sorrows  j 
and  even  though  he  may  be  unable  to  assist  us,  his  mere 
presence  serves  to  comfort  and  strengthen  us. 

Without  reflecting.  Prosper,  impelled  by  tender  feeling, 
was  about  to  throw  himself  into  his  father's  arms,  but  M. 
Bertomy  harshly  repulsed  him.  "  Do  not  approach  me  !  " 
he  exclaimed.  He  then  advanced  into  the  cell,  and  closed 
the  door.  The  father  and  son  were  alone  together — Pros- 
per heart-broken,  crushed ;  M.  Bertomy  angr}-,  almost 
threatening. 

Cast  off  by  this  last  friend,  by  his  father,  the  miserable 
vouns  mcin  seemed  to  be  stupefied  witK  pain  and  disap- 


56  FILE  NO,  \\i, 

pointment.  "  You,  too  !  "  he  bitterly  cried.  ''  You — ^you 
believe  me  guilty  ?     O  father  !  " 

"Spare  yourself  this  shameful  comedy,"  interrupted  M. 
Beriomy  :  "  I  know  all." 

"  But  I  am  innocent,  father ;  I  swear  it  by  the  sacred 
memory  of  my  mother." 

"  Unhappy  wretch  !  "  cried  M.  Bertomy,  "  do  not  blas- 
pheme ! "  He  seemed  overcome  by  tender  thoughts  of 
the  past,  and  in  a  weak,  broken  voice,  added  :  "  Your 
mother  is  dead.  Prosper,  and  little  did  I  think  that  the  day 
would  come  when  I  could  thank  God  for  having  taken  her 
from  me.  Your  crime  would  have  killed  her,  would  have 
broken  her  heart !  " 

After  a  painful  silence,  Prosper  said  :  "  You  overwhelm 
me,  father,  and  at  the  moment  when  I  need  all  my  courage  ; 
when  I  am  the  victim  of  a  hideous  plot." 

"  Victim  !  "  cried  M.  Bertomy,  "  victim  !  Dare  you  ut- 
ter your  insinuations  against  the  honorable  man  who  has 
taken  care  of  you,  loaded  you  with  benefits,  and  had  in- 
sured you  a  brilliant  future  !  It  is  enough  for  you  to  have 
robbed  him ;  do  not  calumniate  him." 

"  For  pity's  sake,  father,  let  me  explain  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  would  deny  your  benefactor's  kindness, 
Yet  you  were  at  one  time  so  sure  of  his  affection,  that  you 
wrote  me  to  hold  myself  in  readiness  to  come  to  Paris  and 
ask  M.  Fauvel  for  the  hand  of  his  niece.  Was  that,  then, 
a  lie  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Prosper  in  a  choked  voice,  "no." 

"  That  was  a  year  ago  ;  you  then  loved  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine  ;  at  least  you  told  me  so." 

"  Father,  I  love  her  now,  more  than  ever ;  I  have  never 
ceased  to  love  her." 

M.  Bertomy  made  a  gestute  of  contemptuous  pity, 
"  Indeed  !  "  he  cried.  "  And  the  thought  of  the  pure,  in- 
nocent girl  whom  you  loved  did  not  prevent  your  entering 
upon  a  path  of  sin.  You  loved  her !  How  dared  you, 
then,  without  blushing,  approach  her  presence  after  asso- 
ciating with  the  shameless  creatures  with  whom  you  were 
so  intimate  ? " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  explain  by  what  fatalit}! 
Madeleine  " — 

"  Enough,  sir,  enough.  I  told  you  that  I  know  every 
thing.     I  saw  M.  Fauvel  yesterday ;  this  morning  I  saw 


FILE  NO.  113.  57 

the  magistrate,  and  'tis  to  his  kindness  that  I  ani  indebted 
for  this  interview.  Do  you  know  what  mortification  I 
suffered  before  being  allowed  to  see  you  ?  I  was  searched 
and  made  to  empty  all  my  pockets.  They  suspected  I 
was  conveying  some  weapon  to  you  !  " 

Prosper  ceased  to  justify  himself,  but  in  a  helpless,  de- 
jected way,  dropped  down  upon  a  seat. 

"  I  have  seen  your  apartments,  and  at  once  recognized 
the  proofs  of  your  crime.  I  saw  silk  curtains  hanging  be- 
fore all  the  windows  and  doors  and  the  walls  covered  with 
pictures.  In  my  father's  house  the  walls  were  white- 
washed ;  and  there  was  but  one  arm-chair  in  the  whole 
place,  and  that  was  my  mother's.  Our  luxury  was  our 
honesty.  You  are  the  first  member  of  our  family  who  has 
possessed  Aubusson  carpets  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  you  are 
the  first  thief  of  our  blood."  At  this  last  msult  Prosper's 
face  flushed  crimson,  but  he  remained  silent  and  immova- 
ble. 

"  But  luxury  is  necessary  now,"  continued  M.  Bertomy, 
becoming  more  excited  and  angry  as  he  went  on  ;  "  luxury 
must  be  had  at  any  price.  You  must  have  the  insolent 
opulence  and  display  of  an  upstart,  without  the  upstart's 
wealth.  You  must  support  worthless  women  who  wear 
satin  slippers  lined  with  swan's  down,  llkt  those  I  saw  in 
your  rooms,  and  keep  servants  in  livery — and  to  do  this 
you  steal !  Bankers  will  no  longer  dare  trust  the  keys  of 
their  safes  with  any  one,  for  every  day  honest  families  are 
disgraced  by  the  discovery  of  some  new  piece  of  villany." 

M.  Bertomy  suddenly  stopped.  He  saw  for  the  first  time 
that  his  son  was  not  in  a  condition  to  hear  his  reproaches. 
*'  But  I  will  say  no  more,"  he  added.  "  I  came  here  not 
to  reproach  you,  but  to  save,  if  possible,  the  honor  of  our 
name,  to  prevent  it  from  being  published  in  the  papers 
among  the  names  of  thieves  and  murderers.  Stand  up 
and  listen  to  me  !  "  At  his  father's  imperious  tone,  Pros- 
per arose.  So  many  successive  blows  had  reduced  him  to 
a  state  of  torpor. 

"  First  of  all,"  began  M.  Bertomy,  "  how  much  have  you 
remaining  of  the  stolen  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
francs  ? " 

"  Once  more,  father,"  replied  the  unfortunate  man  in  a 
tone  of  hopeless  resignation,  "  once  more  I  swear  I  am 
innocent," 


58  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  So  I  supposed  you  would  say.  Then  our  family  will 
have  to  repair  the  injury  you  have  done  M.  Fauvel." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  day  your  brother-in-law  heard  of  your  crime  he 
brought  me  your  sister's  dowry — seventy  thousand  francs. 
I  succeeded  in  collecting  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
francs  more.  This  makes  two  hundred  and  ten  thousand 
francs  which  I  have  brought  with  me  to  give  to  M.  Fauvel." 

This  threat  aroused  Prosper  from  his  torpor.  "You 
shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind !  "  he  cried  with  unrestrained 
indignation. 

"  I  will  do  so  before  the  sun  goes  down  this  day.  M. 
Fauvel  will  grant  me  time  to  pay  the  rest.  My  pension  is 
fifteen  hundred  francs.  I  can  live  upon  five  hundred ;  I 
am  strong  enough  to  go  to  work  again ;  and  your  brother- 
in-law — "  M.  Bertomy  stopped  short,  frightened  at  the 
expression  of  his  son's  face.  His  features  were  contracted 
with  such  furious  rage  that  he  was  scarcely  recognizable, 
and  his  eyes  glared  like  a  maniac's. 

"  You  dare  not  disgrace  me  thus  !  "  cried  Prosper ;  "  you 
have  no  right  to  do  it.  You  are  free  to  disbelieve  me 
yourself,  but  you  have  no  right  to  take  a  step  which  would 
be  a  confession  of  guilt,  and  ruin  me  forever.  Who  and 
what  convinces  you  of  my  guilt  ?  When  cold  justice  hesi- 
tates, you,  my  father,  hesitate  not,  but,  more  pitiless  than 
the  law,  condemn  me  unheard  !  " 

''  I  will  do  my  duty." 

"  Which  means  that  I  stand  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
and  you  push  me  over !  Do  you  call  that  your  duty  ? 
What  i  between  strangers  who  accuse  me,  and  myself  who 
swear  that  I  am  innocent,  you  do  not  hesitate  ?  Why  t 
Is  it  because  I  am  your  son  ?  Our  honor  is  at  stake,  it  is 
true ;  but  that  is  only  the  more  reason  why  you  should 
stand  by  me,  and  assist  me  to  defend  myself." 

Prosper's  earnest,  truthful  manner  was  enough  to  un- 
settle the  firmest  convictions,  and  make  doubt  penetrate 
the  most  stubborn  mind.  "  Yet,''  said  M.  Bertomy  in  a 
hesitating  tone,  "  everything  seems  to  accuse  you." 

"  Ah,  father,  you  do  not  know  that  I  was  sud^.jnly  ban- 
ished from  Madeleine's  presence ;  that  I  was  compelled 
to  avoid  her.  I  became  desperate,  and  tried  to  forget  my 
sorrow  in  dissipation.  I  sought  oblivion,  and  found  shame 
Qnd  disgust,    Ohj  Madeleine,  Madeleine ! "    He  was  over* 


FILE  NO.  113.  59 

come  with  emotion  ;  but  in  a  few  minutes  he  resumed 
with  renewed  violence  in  his  voice  and  manner  :  "  Every- 
thing is  against  me  ,•  but  no  matter.  I  will  clear  myself 
or  perish.  Human  justice  is  liable  to  error  ;  although  in- 
nocent, I  may  be  convicted;  so  be  it.  I  will  undergo  my 
penalty ;  but  people  are  not  kept  galley-slaves  for* 
ever." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  father,  that  I  am  now  another  man.  My  life, 
henceforth,  has  an  object — vengeance  !  I  am  the  victim 
of  a  vile  plot.  As  long  as  I  have  a  drop  of  blood  in  my 
veins,  I  will  seek  its  author.  And  I  will  certainly  find 
him ;  and  then  bitterly  shall  he  expiate  all  of  my  cruel 
suffering.  The  blow  has  come  from  Fauvel's,  and  I  will 
seek  the  villain  there." 

"  Take  care  :  your  anger  makes  you  say  things  that  you 
will  repent  hereafter." 

"  Yes,  I  see,  you  are  going  to  descant  upon  the  probity 
of  M.  Andre  Fauvel.  You  will  tell  me  that  all  the  virtues 
have  taken  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  this  patriarchal  family. 
What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  Would  this  be  the  first  in- 
stance in  which  the  most  shameful  secrets  are  concealed 
beneath  the  fairest  appearances  .'*  Why  did  Madeleine 
suddenly  forbid  me  to  think  of  her  1  Why  has  she  exiled 
me,  when  she  suffers  as  much  from  our  separation  as  I 
myself,  when  she  still  loves  me  .''  For  she  does  love  me.  I 
am  sure  of  it.     I  have  proofs  of  it." 

The  jailer  here  came  to  say  that  the  time  allotted  to  M. 
Bertomy  had  expired,  and  that  he  must  leave  the  cell.  A 
thousand  conflicting  emotions  seemed  to  rend  the  old 
man's  heart.  Suppose  Prosper  were  telling  the  truth  : 
how  great  would  be  his  own  remorse,  if  he  had  added  to 
the  frightful  weight  of  sorrow  and  trouble  his  son  already 
had  to  bear !  And  who  could  prove  that  he  was  not  sin- 
cere in  what  he  said  ? 

The  voice  of  this  son,  of  whom  he  had  ever  been  proud, 
had  aroused  all  his  paternal  affection  which  he  had  so 
violently  repressed.  Ah,  were  he  guilty,  and  guilty  of  a 
worse  crime,  still  he  was  his  son,  his  only  son  !  His  count- 
enance lost  its  severity,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
He  wished  to  leave  as  he  had  entered,  stern  and  angry, 
but  he  had  not  the  cruel  courage.  His  heart  was  break- 
ing,    He  opened  his  arms,  ani  pressed   Prosper  to  his 


€o  FILE  NO.  113. 

breast.     "  Oh,  my  son  !  "  he  murmured,  "  God  grant  you 
have  spoken  the  truth  !  " 

Prosper  was  triumphant :  he  had  almost  convinced  his 
father  of  his  innocence.  But  he  had  no  time  to  rejoice 
over  this  victory.  The  cell  door  again  opened,  and  the 
jailer's  gruff  voice  called  out.  "  It  is  time  for  you  to  ap- 
pear before  the  investigating  magistrate." 

Prosper  instantly  obeyed  the  summons.  His  step  was 
,no  longer  unsteady,  as  a  few  days  previous  :  a  complete 
change  had  come  over  him.  He  walked  firmly,  with  his 
head  erect,  and  the  fire  of  resolution  in  his  eye.  He  knew 
the  way  now,  and  he  proceeded  a  little  ahead  of  the  officer 
who  escorted  him.  As  he  was  passing  through  the  room 
full  of  police-agents,  he  encountered  the  individual  with 
the  gold  spectacles,  who  had  watched  him  so  intently  the 
day  he  was  searched.  "Courage,  M.  Prosper  Bertomy," 
he  said  ;  "  if  you  are  innocent,  there  are  those  who  will 
help  you." 

Prosper  started  with  surprise,  and  was  about  to  reply, 
when  the  man  disappeared.  "  Who  is  that  gentleman  ? " 
he  asked  of  the  officer  who  was  escorting  him. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  don't  know  him  ?  "  replied  the 
man  with  surprise.  "Why,  it  is  M.  Lecoq  of  the  detective 
service." 

"  You  say  his  name  is  Lecoq  ?  " 

"  You  might  as  well  say  '  Monsieur  Lecoq,' "  said  the  of' 
fended  official ;  "  it  would  not  burn  your  mouth.  M. 
Lecoq  is  a  man  who  knows  everything  that  he  wants  to 
know,  without  its  ever  being  told  to  him.  If  your  case  had 
been  in  his  hands  instead  of  in  those  of  that  smooth- 
tongued, imbecile  Fanferlot,  it  would  have  been  settled 
long  ago.  Nobody  is  allowed  to  waste  time  when  he  is  in 
command.     But  he  seems  to  be  a  friend  of  yours." 

"  I  never  saw  him  until  the  first  day  I  came  here." 

"  You  can't  swear  to  that,  because  no  one  can  boast  ot 
knowing  the  real  face  of  M.  Lecoq.  It  is  one  thing  to-day, 
and  another  to  morrow ;  sometimes  he  is  a  dark  man, 
sometimes  a  fair  one,  sometimes  quite  young,  and  then  an 
octogenarian.  Why,  at  times  he  even  deceives  me.  I  be- 
gin to  talk  to  a  stranger — bah  !  it  turns  out  to  be  M.  Lecoq  I 
Anybody  on  the  face  of  the  earth  might  be  he.  If  I  were 
told  that  you  were  he,  I  should  say,  '  Very  likely  it  is  so.' 
Ah !  he  can   convert   himself  into  any  form  he   pleases. 


FILE  NO.  113.  9l 

He  is  a  wonderful  man  !  "  The  speaker  would  have  corv 
tinued  forever  his  praises  of  M.  Lecoq,  had  not  the  sight 
of  the  magistrate's  room  put  an  end  to  them. 

This  time,  Prosper  was  not  kept  waiting  on  the  wooden 
bench ;  on  the  contrary,  the  magistrate  was  waiting  for 
him.  M.  Patrigent,  who  was  a  profound  observer  of  hu- 
man-nature, had  contrived  the  interview  between  M.  Per- 
tomy  and  his  son.  He  was  certain  that  between  the  father, 
a  man  of  such  stubborn  honor,  and  the  son,  accused  of 
theft,  an  affecting  scene  would  take  place,  and  this  scene 
would  completely  unman  Prosper,  and  induce  him  to  con- 
fess. He  determined  to  send  for  him  as  soon  as  the  inter- 
view was  over,  while  his  nerves  were  vibrating  with  terri- 
ble emotions  :  he  would  then  tell  the  truth,  to  relieve  his 
troubled,  despairing  mind. 

The  magistrate's  surprise  therefore  was  great  to  see  the 
cashier's  bearing ;  resolute  without  obstinacy,  firm  and  as- 
sured without  defiance.  "  Well,"  he  said  to  him,  "  have 
you  reflected  ?  " 

"  Not  being  guilty,  sir,  I  had  nothing  to  reflect  upon." 
"Ah,  I  see  the  prison  has  not  been  a  good   counsellor; 
you  forget  that  sincerity  and  repentance  are  the  first  things 
necessary  to  obtain  the  indulgence  of  the  law." 
*'  I  crave  no  indulgence,  sir." 

M.  Patrigent  looked  vexed,  and  said  :  "What  would  you 
say  if  I  told  you  what  had  become  of  the  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  ? " 

Prosper  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  If  it  were  known,  sir, 
I  should  not  be  here,  but  at  liberty." 

This  device  had  often  been  used  by  the  magistrate,  and 
had  generally  succeeded  ;  but,  with  a  man  so  thoroughly 
master  of  himself  as  Prosper  then  was,  there  was  small 
chance  of  success  on  this  occasion.  It  had  been  used  at 
a  venture,  and  had  failed.  Then  you  persist  in  accusing 
M.  Fauvel  t  "  remarked  M.  Patrisfent. 
"  Him,  or  some  one  else." 

"  Excuse  me  :  no  one  else,  since  he  alone  knew  the  word. 
Had  he  any  interest  in  robbing  himself  t  " 
''  I  can  think  of  none." 

"  Well,  now  I  will  tell  you  what  interest  you  had  in  rob- 
bing him." 

M.  Patrigent  spoke  as  a  man  who  was  convinced  of  the 
facts  he  was  about  to  state  ;  but  his  assurance  was  all  a§. 


62  FILE  NO.  113. 

sumed.  He  had  relied  upon  crushing  at  a  blow,  a  de. 
spairing,  wretched  man,  and  was  nonplussed  by  seeing  him 
appear  so  determined  upon  resistance.  "  Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  tell  me,"  he  said  in  a  vexed  tone,  "  how  much 
you  have  spent  during  the  last  year  ?  " 

Prosper  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  stop  to  reflect  and 
calculate.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  unhesitatingly.  "  Cir- 
cumstances made  it  necessary  for  me  to  preserve  the 
greatest  order  in  my  wild  career  ;  I  spent  about  fifty  thou- 
sand francs." 

"  Where  did  you  obtain  them  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  twelve  thousand  francs  were  left  to 
me  by  my  mother.  I  received  from  M.  Fauvel  fourteen 
thousand  francs  for  my  salary,  and  share  of  the  profits. 
By  speculating  on  the  Bourse  I  gained  eight  thousand 
francs.  The  rest  I  borrowed,  and  intend  repaying  out  of 
the  fifteen  thousand  francs  which  I  have  deposited  in  M. 
Fauvel's  bank."  The  account  was  clear,  exact,  and  could 
be  easily  proved  ;  it  must  be  a  true  one. 

"  Who  lent  you  the  money  ? "  inquired  M.  Patrigent. 

"  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors."  This  witness  had  left  Paris  the 
day  of  the  robbery,  and  could  not  be  found  ;  so  for  the 
time  being,  M.  Patrigent  was  compelled  to  rely  upon 
Prosper's  word. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  press  this  point.  Tell  me 
why,  in  spite  of  M.  Fauvel's  formal  order,  you  drew  the 
money  from  the  Bank  of  France  the  night  before,  instead 
of  waiting  till  the  morning  of  the  payment .''  " 

"  Because  M.  de  Clameran  had  informed  me  that  it 
would  be  convenient,  necessary  even,  for  him  to  have  his 
money  early  in  the  morning.  He  will  testify  to  that  fact, 
if  you  summon  him ;  and  I  knew  that  I  should  reach  my 
office  late." 

"  Then  M.  de  Clameran  is  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

••'  By  tio  means.  I  have  always  had  an  aversion  to  him, 
which  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  justify;  he  is,  how- 
ever, the  intimate  friend  of  M.  de  Lagors." 

While  Sigault  was  writing  down  these  answers,  M.  Pa- 
trigent was  racking  his  brain  to  imagine  what  could  have 
occurred  between  M.  Bertomy  and  his  son,  to  cause  this 
transformation  in  Prosper.  "  One  thing  more,"  said  the 
magistrate  :  "  how  did  you  spend  your  evening  the  night 
of  the  crime  ? " 


FILE  NO.  113.  63 

"When  I  left  my  office,  at  five  o'clock,  I  took  the  St. 
Germain  train,  and  went  to  Ve'sinet  to  M.  de  Lagors's 
country  house,  to  return  him  fifteen  hundred  francs  which 
he  had  asked  for ;  and,  not  finding  him  at  home,  I  left  the 
money  with  his  servant." 

"  Did  the  latter  tell  you  that  M.  de  Lagors  was  going' 
away  ? " 

'•  No,  sir.     I  did  not  know  that  he  had  left  Paris." 

"Where  did  you  go  when  you  left  V^sinet?" 

"  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  dined  at  a  restaurant  with  a 
friend." 

"  And  then  ?  "  Prosper  hesitated. 

"  You  are  silent,"  said  M.  Patrigent.  "  I  will  therefore 
tell  you  how  you  employed  your  time.  You  returned  to 
your  rooms  in  the  Rue  Chaptal,  dressed  yourself,  and  went 
to  a  party  given  by  one  of  those  women  who  style  them- 
selves dramatic  artists,  and  who  are  a  disgrace  to  the  stage  ; 
who  receive  salaries  of  a  hundred  crowns  a  year,  and  yet 
keep  their  carriages.  You  went  to  Mademoiselle  Wil- 
son's." 

"  You  are  right,  sir." 

"  There  is  heavy  playing  at  Wilson's  ?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  You  are  in  the  habit  of  visiting  places  of  this  sort. 
Were  you  not  connected  in  some  way  with  a  scandalous 
affair  which  took  place  at  the  house  of  a  woman  named 
Crescenzi  ? " 

"  I  was  summoned  to  give  evidence,  having  been  witness 
of  a  theft." 

"  Gambling  generally  leads  to  stealing.  And  did  you 
not  play  baccarat  at  Wilson's,  and  lose  eighteen  hundred 
francs  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  only  eleven  hundred." 

"  Very  well.  In  the  morning  you  paid  a  bill  that  fell 
due  of  a  thousand  francs." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Moreover,  there  remained  in  your  desk  five  hundred 
francs,  and  you  had  four  hundred  in  your  purse  when 'you 
weie  arrested.  So  that  altogether,  in  twenty-four  hours, 
four  thousand  five  hundred  francs — " 

Prosper  was  not  discountenanced,  but  amazed.  Not 
being  aware  of  the  powerful  means  of  investigation  which 
the  law  has  at  its  command,  he  wondered  how  the  magi* 


64  FILE  NO.  113. 

trate  could  have  obtained  such  accurate  information  in  so 
short  a  time.  "  Your  statement  is  correct,  sir,"  he  finally 
said. 

"  Where  did  all  this  money  come  from  ?  The  evening 
before  you  had  so  little  that  you  were  obliged  to  defer  the 
payment  of  a  small  account." 

'  "The  day  to  which  you  allude,  I  sold  some  bonds  I  hadj 
through  an  agent,  which  realized  about  three  thousand 
francs.  In  addition  I  took  from  the  safe  two  thousand 
francs  in  advance  of  my  salary.  I  have  nothing  to  con- 
ceal." 

Prosper  had  given  clear  answers  to  all  questions  put  to 
him,  and  M.  Patrigent  thought  he  would  now  attack  him 
from  a  new  point.  "  You  say  you  have  no  wish  to  conceal 
any  of  your  actions  ;  then  why  this  note  stealthily  thrown 
to  one  of  your  companions  .''  "  Here  he  held  up  the  myste- 
rious note. 

This  time  the  blow  struck.  Prosper's  eyes  dropped  be- 
fore the  inquiring  look  of  the  magistrate.  "  I  thought,"  he 
stammered,  "  I  wished — " 

"  You  wished  to  hide  your  mistress  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,  I  did.  I  knew  that  a  man  in  my  con- 
dition, accused  of  a  robbery,  has  every  fault,  every  weak- 
ness he  has  ever  indulged  in,  charged  against  him  as  a 
great  crime." 

"  Which  means  that  you  knew  that  the  presence  of  a 
woman  at  your  apartments  would  tell  very  much  against 
you,  and  that  justice  would  not  excuse  this  scandalous  de- 
fiance of  public  morality.  A  man  who  respects  himself 
so  little  as  to  live  with  a  worthless  woman,  does  not  elevate 
her  to  his  standard,  but  descends  to  her  base  level." 

"  Sir  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  know  who  the  woman  is,  whom  you 
permit  to  bear  the  honest  name  borne  by  your  mother?  " 

"  Madam  Gipsy  was  a  governess  when  I  first  knew  her. 
She  was  born  at  Oporto,  and  came  to  France  with  a  Por- 
tuguese family." 

"  Her  name  is  not  Gipsy  :  she  has  never  been  a  govern- 
ess, and  she  is  not  a  Portuguese." 

Prosper  began  to  protest  against  this  ^statement ;  but  M. 
Patrigent  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  after  looking  over  a 
lot  of  papers  on  his  desk,  said  :  "  Ah,  here  it  is  ;  listen  : 
^almyre  Chocareille,  born  at  Paris  in  1840,  daughter  of 


FILE  NO.  113.  6$ 

James  Chocare'ille,  undertaker's  assistant,  and  of  Caroline 
Piedlent,  his  wife." 

Prosper  looked  vexed  and  impatient ;  he  was  not  aware 
that  the  magistrate  was  reading  him  this  report  in  order 
to  convince  him  that  nothing  can  escape  the  police.  **  Pal- 
myre  Chocareille,"  continued  M.  Patrigent,  "  was  appren- 
ticed at  twelve  years  of  age  to  a  shoemaker,  and  remained 
with  him  until  she  was  sixteen.  Traces  of  her  for  one 
year  are  lost.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  she  was  hired  as 
a  servant  by  a  grocer  in  the  Rue  St.  Denis,  named  Dom- 
bas,  and  remained  with  him  three  months.  She  entered 
during  this  same  year,  1857,  eight  different  situations. 
In  1858  she  entered  the  service  of  a  dealer  in  fans  in  the 
Passage  Choiseul." 

As  he  read,  the  magistrate  watched  Prosper's  face  to 
observe  the  effect  of  these  revelations.  "Towards  the 
close  of  1858,"  continued  he,  "she  w'as  employed  as  a 
i>  '"^ant  by  Madame  Nunes,  and  accompanied  her  to  Lis- 
bon. How  long  she  remained  in  Lisbon,  and  what  she 
did  while  she  remained  there  is  not  reported.  But  in  1861 
she  returned  to  Paris,  and  was  sentenced  to  three  months' 
Imprisonment  for  assault  and  battery.  Ah,  she  returned 
from  Portugal  with  the  name  of  Nina  Gipsy." 

"  But,  I  assure  you,  sir,"  Prosper  began. 

"  Yes,  I  understand :  this  history  is  less  romantic^ 
doubtless,  than  the  one  related  to  you  ;  but  then  it  has  the 
merit  of  being  true.  We  lose  sight  of  Palmyre  Chocareille, 
called  Gipsy,  upon  her  release  from  prison  ;  but  we  meet 
her  again  six  months  later,  she  having  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  commercial  traveller  named  Caldas,  who  became 
infatuated  with  her  beauty,  and  furnished  some  rooms  for 
ner  near  the  Bastile.  She  assumed  his  name  for  some 
time,  then  she  deserted  him  to  devote  herself  to  you.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  this  Caldas  .'' " 

"  Never,  sir." 

"  This  foolish  man  so  deeply  loved  this  creature  that 
her  desertion  drove  him  almost  insane  through  grief.  He 
was  ver)'  resolute,  and  publicly  swore  that  he  would  kill 
his  rival  if  he  ever  found  him.  The  current  report  after- 
wards was,  that  he  committed  suicide.  He  certainly  sold 
the  furniture  of  the  house  occupied  by  the  woman  Choca- 
reille, and  suddenly  disappeared.  All  the  efforts  made 
to  discover  him  proved  fruitless." 
5 


66  FILE  NO.  ix%. 

The  magistrate  paused  a  moment  as  if  to  give  Prosper 
time  for  reflection,  and  then  slowly  said  :  "  And  this  is 
the  woman  whom  you  made  your  companion,  the  woman 
for  whom  you  robbed  the  bank  !  " 

Once  more  M.  Patrigent  was  on  the  wrong  track,  owing 
to  Fanferlot's  incomplete  information.  He  had  hoped 
that  Prosper  would  betray  himself  by  uttering  some  pas- 
sionate retort  when. thus  wounded  to  the  quick;  but  the 
latter  remained  impassible.  Of  all  that  the  magistrate 
had  said  to  him  his  mind  dwelt  upon  only  one  v/ord — 
"  Caldas,"  the  name  of  the  poor  commercial  traveller  who 
had  killed  himself. 

"  At  any  rate,"  insisted  M.  Patrigent,  "you  will  confess 
that  this  girl  has  caused  your  ruin." 

"  I  cannot  confess  that,  sir,  for  it  is  not  true." 

"  Yet  she  is  the  cause  of  your  extravagance.  Listen," 
— the  magistrate  here  drew  a  bill  from  the  file  of  papers 
— "  During  December  you  paid  her  dressmaker,  Van  Klo- 
pen,  for  two  out-door  costumes,  nine  hundred  francs ; 
one  evening  dress,  seven  hundred  francs ;  one  domino, 
trimmed  with  lace,  four  hundred  francs." 

"  I  spent  that  money  of  my  own  free  will ;  but,  never- 
theless, I  was  not  in  the  least  attached  to  her." 

M.  Patrigent  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  cannot 
deny  the  evidence,"  said  he.  "  I  suppose  you  will  also 
say  that  it  was  not  for  this  girl's  sake  you  ceased  spending 
your  evenings  at  M.  Fauvel's  ?  " 

"  I  assure  you  that  she  was  not  the  cause  of  my  ceasing 
to  visit  M.  Fauvel's  family." 

"  Then  why  did  you  suddenly  break  off  your  attentions 
to  a  young  lady  whom  you  confidently  expected  to  marry, 
and  whose  hand  you  had  written  to  your  father  to  ask  for 
you  ? " 

"I  had  reasons  which  I  cannot  reveal,"  answered  Pros- 
per with  emotion. 

The  magistrate  breathed  freely  ;  at  last  he  had  discov- 
ered a  vulnerable  point  in  the  prisoner's  armor.  "  Did 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine  banish  you  from  her  presence  ?  " 
Prosper  was  silent,  and  seemed  agitated.  "  Speak,"  said 
M.  Patrigent ;  "  I  must  tell  you  that  this  is  one  of  the 
most  important  circumstances  in  your  case." 

"  Whatever  the  cost  may  be,  on  this  subject  I  am  com* 
pelled  to  keep  silence." 


FILE  NO.  113.  6j 

"  Beware  of  what  you  do ;  justice  will  not  be  satisfied 
with  scruples  of  conscience,"  M.  Patrigent  waited  for  an 
answer.     None  came. 

"  You  persist  in  your  obstinacy,  do  you?  "  continued  he. 
"  Well,  we  will  go  on  to  the  next  question.  You  have, 
during  the  last  year,  spent  fifty  thousand  francs.  Your 
resources  are  at  an  end,  and  your  credit  is  exhausted ;  to 
continue  your  mode  of  life  was  impossible.  What  did  you 
intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  settled  plan.  I  thought  it  might  last  as  long 
as  it  would,  and  then  I — " 

"  And  then  you  w^ould  abstract  money  from  the  safe ; 
was  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  if  I  were  guilty  I  should  not  be  here  !  I  should 
never  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to  return  to  the  bank  ;  I 
should  have  fled." 

M.  Patrigent  could  not  restrain  a  smile  of  satisfaction, 
and  exclaimed  :  "  Exactly  the  argument  I  expected  you  to 
use.  You  showed  your  shrewdness  precisely  by  staying 
to  face  the  storm,  instead  of  flying  the  country.  Several 
recent  cases  have  taught  dishonest  cashiers  that  flight 
abroad  is  dangerous.  Railways  travel  fast,  but  telegrams 
travel  faster.  A  French  thief  can  be  arrested  in  London 
within  forty-eight  hours  after  his  description  has  been  tele- 
graphed. Even  America  is  no  longer  a  refuge.  You  re- 
mained, prudently  and  wisely,  saying  to  yourself,  '  I  will 
manage  to  avoid  suspicion ;  and,  even  if  I  am  found  out, 
I  shall  be  free  again  after  three  or  five  years'  seclusion, 
with  a  large  fortune  to  enjoy.'  Many  people  would  sacri- 
fice five  years  of  their  lives  for  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs." 

"  But,  sir,  had  I  calculated  in  the  manner  you  describe, 
I  should  not  have  been  content  with  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  francs — I  should  have  waited  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  steal  a  million.  I  often  had  that  sum  in  my 
charge." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  always  convenient  to  wait." 

Prosper  was  buried  in  deep  thought  for  some  minutes. 
"  Sir,"  he  finally  said,  "  there  is  one  detail  I  forgot  to 
oaention  before,  and  it  may  be  of  importance." 

"  Explain,  if  you  please." 

"  The  messenger  whom  I  sent  to  the  Bank  of  France 
for  the  money  must  have  seen  me  tie  up  the  bundles  of 


68  FILE  NO.  uj. 

notes  and  put  them  away  in  the  safe.     At  any  rate,  he 
knows'that  I  left  my  office  before  he  did." 

"  Very  well ;  the  man  shall  be  examined.  Now  you  can 
return  to  your  cell ;  and  once  more  I  advise  you  to  con- 
sider the  consequences  of  your  persistent  denial."  M. 
Patrigent  thus  abruptly  dismissed  Prosper  because  he 
wished  to  act  immediately  upon  this  last  piece  of  informa- 
tion. 

"  Sigault,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  Prosper  had  left  the  room, 
"  is  not  this  messenger  the  man  who  was  excused  from 
being  examined  from  his  having  sent  a  doctor's  certificate 
declaring  him  too  ill  to  appear  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  Fanferlot  says  he  was  so  ill  that  he  was  taken  to  the 
hospital — the  Dubois  Hospital." 

"  Very  good.  I  am  going  to  examine  him  to-day,  this 
very  hour.  Take  your  pen  and  paper,  and  send  for  a 
cab." 

It  was  some  distance  from  the  Palais  de  Justice  to  the 
Dubois  Hospital ;  but  the  cabman,  urged  by  the  promise  of 
a  handsome  present  for  himself,  made  his  sorry  jades  fly 
as  if  they  were  blood  horses. 

Would  the  messenger  be  able  to  answer  any  questions  ? 
That  was  the  point.  The  physician  in  charge  of  the  hos- 
pital said  that,  although  the  man  suffered  severely  from  a 
broken  knee,  his  mind  was  perfectly  clear.  "  That  being 
the  case,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  I  wish  to  examine  him, 
and  desire  that  no  one  be  admitted  while  he  makes  his 
deposition." 

"  Oh  !  you  will  not  be  intruded  upon  ;  his  room  contains 
four  beds,  but  with  the  exception  of  his  own  they  are  just 
now  all  unoccupied." 

When  the  messenger  saw  the  magistrate  enter,  followed 
by  a  tall  thin  young  man  with  a  portfolio  under  his  arm,  he 
at  once  knew  what  they  had  come  for.  "  Ah,"  he  said, 
you  have  come  to  see  me  about  M.  Bertomy's  affair  t  " 

"  Precisely." 

M.'  Patrigent  remained  standing  by  the  sick-bed  while 
Sigault  arranged  his  papers  on  a  little  table.  In  answer 
to  the  usual  questions,  the  messenger  stated  that  he  was 
named  Antonin  Poche,  was  forty  years  old,  born  at  C* 
daujac  in  the  Gironde,  and  was  unmarried. 


FILE  NO.  113.  69 


(( 


"  Now,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  are  you  well  enough  to 
answer  clearly  any  questions  I  may  put  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  sir.'' 

"  Did  you,  on  the  27th  of  February,  go  to  the  Bank  of 
France  for  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs  that 
were  stolen  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  At  what  hour  did  you  return  with  the  money  ?  '* 
I     "  It  must  have  been  five  o'clock  when  I  got  back." 

"  Do  you  remember  what  M.  Bertomy  did  when  you 
handed  him  the  notes  ?  Now,  do  not  be  in  a  hurry  ;  think 
before  you  answer  the  question." 

"  Let  me  see  :  first  he  counted  the  notes,  and  made  them 
up  into  four  packages  ;  then  he  put  them  in  the  safe,  which 
he  afterwards  locked,  and  then — it  seems  to  me — yes,  I  am 
not  mistaken,  he  went  out !  " 

He  uttered  these  last  words  with  so  much  energy,  that, 
forgetting  his  knee  he  half  started  up  in  bed,  giving  \'^xi\ 
at  the  same  time  to  a  cry  of  pain. 

*'  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  magistrate. 

M.  Patrigent's  solemn  tone  seemed  to  frighten  Antonin. 
"  Sure  .''  "  he  exclaimed  with  marked  hesitation  ;  "  I  would 
bet  my  head  on  it,  yet  I  am  not  more  sure  than  that ! " 

It  was  impossible  to  get  him  to  be  more  precise  in  his 
answers.  He  had  been  frightened.  He  already  imagined 
himself  compromised,  and  for  a  trifle  would  have  retracted 
everything.  But  the  effect  was  none  the  less  produced, 
and  when  they  retired  M.  Patrigentsaid  to  Sigault :  "This 
is  a  very  important  piece  of  evidence." 


VI. 

The  hotel  of  the  Grand  Archangel,  Madame  Gipsy's 
asylum,  was  the  most  elegant  one  on  the  Quai  St  Michel. 
At  this  hotel  si  person  who  pays  her  fortnight's  board  in 
advance  is  treated  with  marked  consideration. 

Madame  Alexandre,who  had  been  a  handsome  woman, 
A^as  now  stout,  laced  till  she  could  scarcely  breathe,  always 
over-dressed,  and  fond  of  wearing  a  number  of  flashy  gold 
chains  around  her  fat  neck.  She  had  bright  eyes  and 
white  teeth ;  but,  alas,  a  red  nose.  Of  all  her  weaknesses 
—and  heaven  knows  she  had  indulged  in  every  variety—* 


70  FILE  NO.  113. 

only  one  remained  ;  she  loved  a  good  dinner,  washed  down 
v/ith  plenty  of  good  wme.  But  she  loved  her  husband ; 
and,  about  the  time  M.  Patrigent  was  leaving  the  hospital, 
she  began  to  feel  worried  because  her  "  little  man  "  had 
not  returned  to  dinner.  She  was  about  to  sit  down  with- 
out him,  when  the  waiter  cried  out :  "  Here  is  master.'* 
And  Fanferlot  appeared  in  person.  ( 

Three  years  before,  Fanferlot  had  kept  a  little  private 
inquiry  office  ;  Madame  Alexandre  dealt  without  a  license 
in  perfumery  and  toilet  articles,  and,  finding  it  necessary 
to  have  some  of  her  doubtful  customers  watched,  engaged 
Fanferlot's  services  ;  this  was  the  origin  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. 

If  they  went  through  the  marriage  ceremony  for  the 
good  of  the  mayoralty  and  the  church,  it  was  because  they 
imagined  it  would,  like  a  baptism,  wash  out  the  sins  of  the 
past.  Upon  this  momentous  day,  Fanferlot  gave  up  his 
private  inquiry  office,  and  entered  the  police,  where  he  had 
already  been  occasionally  employed,  and  Madame  Alex- 
andre retired  from  business. 

Uniting  their  savings,  they  hired  and  furnished  the 
Grand  Archangel,  which  they  were  now  carrying  en  pros- 
perously, esteemed  by  their  neighbors,  who  were  ignorant 
of  Fanferlot's  connection  with  the  police  force. 

"Why,  how  late  you  are,  my  little  man!"  exclaimed 
Madame  Alexandre  as  she  dropped  her  knife  and  fork, 
and  rushed  forward  to  embrace  her  husband. 

Fanferlot  received  her  caresses  with  an  air  of  abstrac- 
tion. "  My  back  is  broken,"  he  said.  "  I  have  been  the 
whole  day  playing  billiards  with  Evariste,  M.  Fauvel's 
valet,  and  allowed  him  to  win  as  often  as  he  wished — 
a  man  who  does  not  know  what  pool  is !  I  became 
acquainted  with  him  yesterday,  and  now  I  am  his  best 
friend.  If  I  wish  to  enter  M.  Fauvel's  service  in  Antonin's 
I^lace,  I  can  rely  upon  Evariste's  good  word." 

"What,  you  be  an  office  messenger  ?  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  would.  How  else  am  I  to  get  an  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  my  characters,  if  I  am  not  on  the  spot 
to  continually  watch  them  ?  " 

"  Then  the  valet  gave  you  no  information  ?  '* 

"  None  that  I  could  make  use  of,  and  yet  I  turned  him 
inside  out  like  a  glove.  This  banker  is  a  remarkable  man  ; 
you  don't   often  meet  with  one  of   his  sort  nowadays 


FILE  NO.  113.  71. 

Evariste  says  he  has  not  a  single  vice,  not  even  a  little 
defect  by  which  his  valet  could  gain  ten  sous.  He  neither 
smokes,  drinks,  nor  plays  ;  in  fact,  he  is  a  saint.  He  is 
worth  millions,  and  lives  as  respectably  and  quietly  as  a 
grocer.  He  is  devoted  to  his  wife,  adores  his  children,  is 
very  hospitable,  but  seldom  goes  into  society." 

"  Then  his  wife  is  young  ? " 

"  No,  she  must  be  about  fifty." 

Madam  Alexandre  reflected  a  minute,  then  asked  :  *'  Did 
you  inquire  about  the  other  members  of  the  family  1 " 

"  Certainly.  The  younger  son  is  in  the  army.  The 
elder  son,  Lucien,  lives  with  his  parents,  and  is  altogether 
as  proper  as  a  young  lady.  He  is  so  good,  indeed,  that  he 
is  perfectly  stupid." 

"  And  what  about  the  niece  ?  " 

"  Evariste  could  tell  me  nothing  about  her." 

Madam  Alexandre  shrugged  her  fat  shoulders.  "  If  you 
have  discovered  nothing,"  she  said,  "  it  is  because  there 
is  nothing  to  be  discovered.  Still,  do  you  know  what  I 
would  do,  if  I  were  you  ?  " 

"  Tell  me." 

"  I  would  consult  M.  Lecoq." 

Fanferlot  jumped  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  "  Now, 
that's  pretty  advice  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  want  me 
to  lose  my  place  ?  M.  Lecoq  does  not  suspect  that  I 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  case,  excepting  to  obey  his 
orders." 

"  Nobody  told  you  to  let  him  know  you  were  investiga- 
ting it  on  your  own  account.  You  can  consult  him  with  an 
air  of  indifference,  as  if  you  were  not  at  all  interested  ;  and, 
after  you  have  got  his  opinion,  you  can  take  advantage  of 
it." 

The  detective  weighed  his  wife's  words,  and  then  said  : 
"  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  yet  M.  Lecoq  is  so  deucedly 
shrewd,  that  he  might  see  through  me." 

"  Shrewd  !  "  echoed  Madam  Alexandre  ;  "  shrewd  !  All 
of  you  at  the  Prefecture  say  that  so  often,  that  he  has 
gained  his  reputation  by  it.  You  are  just  as  sharp  as  he 
is." 

*'  Well,  we  will  see.  I  will  think  the  matter  over ;  but, 
ID  the  mean  time,  what  does  the  girl  say  1 "  The  "  girl " 
was  Madame  Nina  Gipsy. 

In  taking  up  her  abode  at  the  Grand  Archangel,  Mad 


72  FILE  NO.  113. 

ame  Nina  thought  she  was  following  good  advice  ;  and, 
as  Fanferlot  had  never  appeared  in  her  presence  since,  she 
was  still  under  the  impression  that  she  had  obeyed  a  friend 
of  Prosper's.  When  she  received  her  summons  from  M. 
Patrigent,  she  admired  the  wonderful  skill  of  the  police  in 
discovering  her  hiding  place  ;  for  she  had  established  her- 
self at  the  hotel  under  a  false,  or  rather  her  true  name, 
Palmyre  Chocareille.  Artfully  questioned  by  her  inquisi- 
tive landlady,  she  had,  without  any  mistrust,  confided  her 
history  to  her.  Thus  Fanferlot  was  able  to  impress  the 
magistrate  with  the  idea  of  his  being  a  skilful  detective, 
when  he  pretended  to  have  discovered  all  this  information 
from  a  variety  of  sources. 

"  She  is  still  up  stairs,"  replied  Madame  Alexandre. 
"  She  suspects  nothing  ;  but  to  keep  her  in  the  house  be- 
comes every  day  more  difficult.  I  don't  know  what  the 
magistrate  told  her,  but  she  came  home  quite  beside  her- 
self with  anger.  She  wanted  to  go  and  make  a  fuss  at  M. 
Fauvel's.  Then  she  wrote  a  letter,  which  she  told  Jean  to 
post  for  her ;  but  I  kept  it  to  show  you." 

"  What !  "  interrupted  Fanferlot,  "  you  have  a  letter,  and 
did  not  tell  me  before  ?  Perhaps  it  contains  the  clue  to 
^e  m3^stery.     Give  it  to  me,  quick." 

Obeying  her  husband,  Madame  Alexandre  opened  a 
little  cupboard  and  took  out  a  letter,  which  she  handed  to 
him.     "  Here,  take  it,"  she  said,  "and  be  satisfied." 

Considering  that  she  used  to  a  chamber-maid,  Palmyre 
Chocareille,  since  become  Madame  Gipsy,  wiote  well. 
Her  letter  bore  the  following  address,  written  '.n  a  free, 
flowing  hand  : 

"  M.  L.  DE  Clameran, 

"  Forge- Master^  Httel  du  Louvre, 
**  To  be  handed  to  M.  Raoul  de  Lagors. 
"(Immediate.)" 

"  Oh,  ho  !  "  said  Fanferlot,  accompanying  his  exclama 
tion  with  a  little  whistle,  as  was  his  habit  when  he  thought 
he  had  made  a  grand  discovery.     "  Oh,  ho  !  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  open  it  ?  '*  inquired  Madame  Alex- 
Andre. 

"  A  little  bit,"  said  Fanferlot,  as  he  dexterously  opened 
^he  envelope. 


FILE  NO.  113.  73 

Madame  Alexandre  leaned  over  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  they  both  read  the  following : 

"  Monsieur  Raoul — Prosper  is  in  prison,  accused  of  a 
robbery  which  he  never  committed.  I  wrote  to  you  three 
days  ago." 

"  What !  "  interrupted  Fanferlot,  "  this  silly  girl  wrote, 
and  I  never  saw  the  letter  ?  " 

"  But,  little  man,  she  must  have  posted  it  herself,  the 
day  she  went  to  the  Palais  de  Justice." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Fanferlot,  propitiated.  He  con- 
tinued reading  : 

"  I  wrote  to  you  three  days  ago,  and  have  no  reply. 
Who  will  help  Prosper  if  his  best  friends  desert  him  ?  If 
you  don't  answer  this  letter,  I  shall  consider  myself  re- 
leased from  a  certain  promise,  and  without  scruple  will 
tell  Prosper  of  the  conversation  I  overheard  between  you 
and  M.  de  Clameran.  But  I  can  count  on  you,  can  I  not? 
I  shall  expect  you  at  the  Grand  Archangel,  on  the  Quai  St. 
Michel,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  between  twelve  and  four. 
— Nina  Gipsy." 

The  letter  read,  Fanferlot  at  once  proceeded  to  copy 
it. 

"  Well !  "  said  Madame  Alexandre,  "  what  do  you  think  ? " 

Fanferlot  was  delicately  refastening  the  letter  when  the 
door  of  the  hotel  office  was  abruptly  opened,  and  the 
waiter  twice  whispered  :  "  Pst !  Pst !  " 

Fanferlot  rapidly  disappeared  into  a  dark  closet.  He 
had  barely  time  to  close  the  door  before  Madame  Gipsy 
entered  the  room.  The  poor  girl  was  sadly  changed.  She 
was  pale  and  hollow-cheeked,  and  her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping. 

On  seeing  her,  Madame  Alexandre  could  not  conceal 
her  surprise.  "  Why,  my  child,  you  are  not  going  out  "i  " 
said  she. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  do  so,  madame ;  and  I  have  come  to 
ask  you  to  tell  any  one  that  may  call  during  my  absence  to 
wait  until  I  return." 

''  But  where  in  the  world  are  you  going  at  this  hour, 
unwell  as  you  are  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Madame  Gipsy  hesitated,  "  Oh,"  sha 
said,  "you  are  so  kind  that  I  am  tempted  to  (xmfide  ig 


J  4  FILE  NO.  113. 

you  ;  read  this  note  which  a  messenger  just  now  brought 
to  me." 

"  What  !"  cried  Madame  Alexandre  perfectly  aghast; 
**  a  messenger  enter  my  house,  and  go  up  to  your  room  !  " 

"  Is  there  anything  surprising  in  that  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no  !  nothing  surprising."  And  in  a  tone  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  in  the  closet,  Madame  Alexandre  read 
the  note  : 

"  A  friend  of  Prosper's  who  can  neither  receive  you,  nor 
present  himself  at  your  hotel,  is  very  anxious  to   speak  to' 
you.     Be  in  the  omnibus  office  opposite  the  tower  of  Saint 
Jacques,  to-night  at  nine  precisely,  and  the  writer  will  be 
there,  and  tell  you  what  he  has  to  say. 

"  I  have  appointed  this  public  place  for  the  rendezvous 
so  as  to  relieve  your  mind  of  all  fear." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  this  rendezvous  ?  " 

*'  Certainly,  madame." 

"  But  it  is  imprudent,  foolish :  it  is  a  snare  to  entrap 
you." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  interrupted  Nina.  "  I  am  so 
unfortunate  already  that  I  have  nothing  more  to  dread. 
Any  change  would  be  a  relief."  And,  without  waiting  to 
hear  anything  more,  she  went  off.  The  door  had  scarcely 
closed  upon  her  before  Fanferlot  bounced  from  the  closet. 

The  mild  detective  was  white  with  rage,  and  swore  vio- 
lently. "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Am  I 
to  stand  by  and  have  people  walking  all  over  the  Grand 
Archangel  as  if  it  were  a  public  street  ?  "  Madame  Alex- 
andre stood  trembling,  and  dared  not  speak.  ''  Was  ever 
such  impudence  heard  of  before  !  "  he  continued.  "  A  mes- 
senger comes  into  my  house,  and  goes  up  stairs  without  be- 
ing seen  by  anybody  !  I  will  look  into  this.  And  the  idea 
of  you,  Madame  Alexandre,  you,  a  sensible  woman,  being 
idiotic  enough  to  try  and  persuade  that  little  viper  not  to 
keep  the  appointment !  " 

"  But,  my  dear — " 

"  Had  you  not  sense  enough  to  know  that  I  would  follow 
her,  and  discover  what  she  is  attempting  to  conceal  ? 
Come,  make  haste  and  help  me,  so  that  she  won't  recog- 
nize me." 

In  a  few  minutes  Fanferlot  was  completely  disguised  by 
,1  thick  beard,  a  wig,  and  a  linen  blouse,  and  looked  for 
all  the  world  like  one  of  those  disreputable  working  men 


FILE  NO,  113.  .  1\ 

who  go  about  seeking  for  employment,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  hoping  they  may  not  find  any. 

"  Have  you  your  life  preserver  ?  "  asked  the  solicitous 
Madame  Alexandre. 

"Yes,  yes;  make  haste  and  have  that  letter  to  M.  de 
Clameran  posted,  and  keep  on  the  look  out."  And  with- 
out listening  to  his  wife,  who  called  after  him  :  "  Good 
luck,"  Fanferlot  darted  into  the  street. 

Madame  Gipsy  had  some  minutes  start  of  him  ;  but  he 
ran  up  the  street  he  knew  she  must  have  taken,  and  overtook 
her  on  the  Pont-au-Change.  She  was  walking  with  the  un- 
certain manner  of  a  person  who,  impatient  to  be  at  a  ren- 
dezvous, has  started  too  soon,  and  is  obliged  to  occupy  the 
intervening  time.  First  she  would  walk  slowly,  then 
quicken  her  steps,  and  proceed  very  rapidly.  She  strolled 
up  and  down  the  Place  du  Chatelet  several  times,  read  the 
theatre-bills,  and  finally  seated  herself  on  a  bench.  One 
minute  before  a  quarter  to  nine,  she  entered  the  omnibus- 
office,  and  sat  down. 

A  moment  afterwards  Fanferlot  entered  ;  but,  as  he 
feared  that  Madame  Gipsy  might  recognize  him  in  spite 
of  his  beard,  he  took  a  seat  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room,  in  a  dark  corner.  "  Singular  place  for  a  conversa* 
tion,"  he  thought,  as  he  watched  the  young  woman.  "  Who 
in  the  world  can  have  made  this  appointment  in  an  omni- 
bus office  ?  Judging  from  her  evident  curiosity  and  un- 
easiness, I  could  swear  she  has  not  the  faintest  idea  for 
whom  she  is  waiting." 

Meanwhile,  the  office  was  rapidly  filling  with  peo« 
pie.  Every  minute  an  official  would  shout  out  the  desti- 
nation of  an  omnibus  which  had  just  arrived,  and  the  pas- 
sengers would  rush  in  to  obtain  tickets,  hoping  to  be  able 
to  proceed  by  it. 

As  each  new-comer  entered,  Nina  would  tremble,  and 
Fanferlot  would  say,  "  This  must  be  him  !  "  Finally,  as 
the  Hotel-de-Ville  clock  was  striking  nine,  a  man  entered^, 
and,  without  going  to  the  ticket-desk,  walked  directly  up 
to  Nina,  bowed,  and  took  a  seat  beside  her.  He  was  of 
medium-size,  rather  stout,  with  a  crimson  face,  and  fiery- 
red  whiskers.  His  dress  was  that  of  a  well-to-do  merchant, 
and  there  was  nothing  in  his  manner  or  appearance  to  ex- 
cite attention. 

Fanferlot  watched  him  eagerly.     "Well,  my  friend," he 


y6  hILE  NO.  113. 

said  to  himself,  "  in  future  I  shall  recognize  you,  no  mattet 
where  we  meet ;  and  this  very  evening  I  will  find  out  who 
you  are,"  Despite  his  intent  listening,  Fanferlot  could 
not  hear  a  word  spoken  by  either  the  stranger  or  Nina. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  judge  what  the  subject  of  their 
conversation  might  be  by  their  gestures. 

When  the  stout  man  bowed  and  spoke  to  her,  Madame 
Gipsy  looked  so  surprised  that  it  was  evident  she  had  never 
seen  him  before.  When  he  sat  down  by  her,  and  said  a 
few  words,  she  started  up  with  a  frightened  air,  as  if  seeking 
to  escape.  A  single  word  and  look  made  her  resume  her 
seat.  Then,  as  the  stout  man  went  on  talking,  Nina's  at- 
titude betrayed  a  certain  apprehension.  She  evidently  re- 
fused to  do  something  required  of  her  ;  then  suddenly  she 
seemed  to  consent,  when  a  good  reason  was  given  for  her 
doing  so.  At  one  moment  she  appeared  ready  to  weep, 
and  the  next  her  pretty  face  was  illumined  by  a  bright 
smile.  Finally,  she  shook  hands  with  her  companion,  as 
if  she  were  confirming  a  promise. 

"  What  can  all  this  mean  ?  "  said  Fanferlot  to  himself, 
as  he  sat  in  his  dark  corner,  biting  his  nails.  "  What  an 
idiot  I  am  to  have  stationed  myself  so  far  off  !  "  He  was 
thinking  how  he  could  manage  to  approach  nearer  without 
arousing  their  suspicions,  when  the  stout  man  rose,  offered 
his  arm  to  Madame  Gipsy,  who  accepted  it  without  hesita- 
tion, and  they  walked  together  towards  the  door. 

They  were  so  engrossed  with  eace  other,  that  Fanferlot 
thought  he  could,  without  risk,  follow  them  closely ;  and 
it  was  well  he  did,  for  the  crowd  was  dense  outside,  and 
he  would  soon  have  lost  sight  of  them.  Reaching  the 
door,  he  saw  the  stout  man  and  Nina  cross  the  pavement, 
hail  a  cab,  and  enter  it. 

'  **  Very  good,"  muttered  Fanferlot,  "  I've  got  them  now. 
There  is  no  need  to  hurry." 

While  the  driver  was  gathering  up  his  reins,  Fanferlot 
prepared  himself ;  and,  when  the  cab  started,  he  set  off  at 
a  brisk  trot,  determined  upon  following  it  to  the  end  of  the 
earth. 

The  cab  proceeded  along  the  Boulevard  Sebastopol. 
It  went  pretty  fast ;  but  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  Fan- 
ferlot had  been  dubbed  the  Squirrel.  With  his  elbows 
glued  to  his  sides,  and  economizing  his  wind,  he  ran  on. 
By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  Boulevard  St.  Denis,  h^ 


FILE  NO.  113.  77 

began  to  %tx  winded,  and  stiff  from  the  pain  in  his  side. 
The  cabman  abruptly  turned  into  the  Rue  Faubourg  St. 
Martin. 

But  Fanferlot,  who,  at  eight  years  of  age,  had  played 
about  the  streets  of  Paris,  was  not  to  be  baffled ;  he  was 
a  man  of  resources.  He  seized  hold  of  the  springs  of  the 
cab,  raised  himself  up  by  the  strength  of  his  wrists,  and 
hung  on,  with  his  legs  resting  on  the  axle-tree  of  the  hind 
wheels.  He  was  not  particularly  comfortable,  but  then, 
he  no  longer  ran  the  risk  of  being  distanced.  '*  Now,"  he 
chuckled,  behind  his  false  beard,  "  you  may  drive  as  fast 
as  you  please,  cabby." 

The  man  whipped  up  his  horses,  and  drove  furiously 
along  the  hilly  street  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin.  Fi- 
nally the  cab  stopped  in  front  of  a  wine-shop,  and  the  driver 
jumped  down  from  his  seat,  and  went  in. 

The  detective  also  left  his  uncomfortable  post,  and 
crouching  in  a  doorway  waited  for  Nina  and  her  compan- 
ion to  alight,  with  the  intention  of  following  closely  upon 
their  heels.  Five  minutes  passed,  and  still  there  were  no 
signs  of  them.  "What  can  they  be  doing  all  this  time  }  " 
grumbled  the  detective.  With  great  precautions  he  ap- 
proached the  cab,  and  peeped  in.  Oh,  cruel  deception  !  it 
was  empty  ! 

Fanferlot  felt  as  if  some  one  had  thrown  a  bucket  of  ice- 
water  over  him ;  he  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  with  his 
mouth  open,  the  picture  of  blank  bewilderment.  He  soon 
recovered  his  wits  sufficiently  to  burst  forth  into  a  volley 
of  oaths,  loud  enough  to  rattle  all  the  window-panes  in 
the  neighborhood.  "  Tricked  !  "  he  cried,  "  fooled  ! 
Ah  I  but  won't  I  make  them  pay  for  this  !  " 

In  a  moment  his  quick  mind  had  nm  over  the  gamut  of 
possibilities,  probable  and  improbable.  "  Evidently,"  he 
muttered,  "  this  fellow  and  Nina  entered  by  one  door,  and 
got  out  by  the  other ;  the  trick  is  simple  enough.  If  they 
resorted  to  it,  'tis  because  they  feared  being  followed.  If 
they  feared  being  followed,  they  have  uneasy  consciences, 
therefore — "  He  suddenly  interrupted  his  monologue  as 
the  idea  struck  him  that  he  had  better  endeavor  to  find 
out  something  from  the  driver. 

Unfortunately,  the  driver  was  in  a  very  surly  mood,  and 
not  only  refused  to  answer,  but  shook  his  whip  in  so  threat- 
ening a  manner  that  Fanferlot  deemed  it  prudent  to  beat 


^  FILE  NO.  113. 

a   retreat.     "  Oh,  hang   it,"   he   muttered,    "  perhaps  the 
driver  is  mixed  up  in  the  affair  also  ! " 

But  what  could  he  do  now  at  this  time  of  night?  He 
could  not  imagine.  He  walked  dejectedly  back  to  the  quay, 
and  it  was  half-past  eleven  when-  he  reached  his  own  door. 
"  Has  the  little  fool  returned  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Madame 
Alexandre,  the  instant  she  let  him  in. 

"  No ;  but  here  are  two  large  bundles  which  have  come 
for  her." 

Fanferlot  hastily  opened  them.  They  contained  three 
cotton  dresses,  some  heavy  shoes,  and  some  linen  caps. 
"  Well,"  said  the  detective  in  a  vexed  tone,  "  now  she  is 
going  to  disguise  herself.  Upon  my  word,  I  am  getting 
puzzled  !     What  can  she  be  up  to  ?  " 

When  Fanferlot  was  sulkily  walking  down  the  Faubourg 
St.  Martin,  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  tell  his  wife  of  his  discomfiture.  But  once  at  home, 
confronted  with  a  new  fact  of  a  nature  to  negative  all  his 
conjectures,  his  vanity  disappeared.  He  confessed  every- 
thing— his  hopes  so  nearly  realized,  his  strange  mis- 
chance>  and  his  suspicions.  They  talked  the  matter  over 
and  finally  decided  that  they  would  not  go  to  bed  until 
Madame  Gipsy,  from  w^hom  Madame  Alexandre  was  de- 
termined to  obtain  an  explanation  of  what  had  happened, 
returned.  At  one  o'clock  the  worthy  couple  were  about 
giving  over  all  hope  of  her  re-appearance,  when  they  heard 
the  bell  ring. 

Fanferlot  instantly  slipped  into  the  closet,  and  Madame 
Alexandre  remained  in  the  office  to  receive  Nina.  "  Here 
you  are  at  last,  my  dear  child  I  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  I  have 
been  so  uneasy,  so  afraid  lest  some  misfortune  had  hap- 
pened !  " 

"  Thanks  for  your  kind  interest,  madame.  Has  a  bundle 
been  sent  here  for  me  ,''  " 

Poor  Nina's  appearance  had  strikingly  changed  ;  she 
was  still  sad,  but  no  longer  dejected  as  she  had  been.  To 
her  prostration  of  the  last  few  days,  had  succeeded  a  firm 
and  generous  resolution,  which  was  betrayed  in  her  spark 
ling  eyes  and  resolute  step. 

"  Yes,  two  bundles  came  for  you  ;  here  they  are.  I  sup 
pose  you  saw  M.  Bertomy's  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame  ,  and  his  advice  has  so  changed  my  plan^ 
that,  I  regret  to  say,  I  must  leave  you  to-morrow." 


FILE  NO.  IT 3.  79 

•'Gcing  away  to-morrow  !  then  something  must  have 
happened." 

"  Oh  !  nothing  that  would  interest  you,  madame." 

After  Hghting  her  candle  at  the  gas-burner,  Madame 
Gipsy  said  :  "  Good-night  "  in  a  very  significant  way,  and 
left  the  room. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Madame  Alexandre  1 ' 
asked  Fanferlot,  as  he  emerged  from  his  hiding-place. 

"  It  is  incredible  !  This  girl  writes  to  M.  de  Lagors  to 
meet  her  here,  and  then  does  not  wait  for  him." 

"  She  evidently  mistrusts  us  ;  she  knows  who  I  am." 

"  Then  this  friend  of  the  cashier  must  have  told  her." 

"  Nobody  knows  who  told  her.  I  begin  to  think  that  I 
have  to  do  with  some  very  knowing  thieves.  They  guess 
I  am  on  their  track,  and  are  trying  to  escape  me.  I  should 
not  be  at  all  surprised  if  this  little  rogue  has  the  money 
herself,  and  intends  to  run  off  with  it  to-morrow." 

"  That  is  not  my  opinion  ;  but  listen  to  me,  you  had 
better  take  my  advice,  and  consult  M.  Lecoq." 

Fanferlot  meditated  awhile,  then  exclaimed  :  "  Very  well ; 
I  will  see  him,  just  for  your  satisfaction ;  because  I  know  that 
if  I  have  not  discovered  anything,  neither  will  he.  But  if  he 
takes  upon  himself  to  be  domineering,  it  won't  do  ;  for  only 
let  him  show  his  insolence  to  me,  and  /will  let  him  know 
his  place  ! " 

Notwithstanding  this  brave  speech,  the  detective  passed 
an  uneasy  night,  and  at  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  he 
was  up — it  was  necessary  to  rise  very  early  if  one  wished 
to  catch  M.  Lecoq  at  home — and  refreshed  by  a  cup  of 
strong  coffee,  he  directed  his  steps  towards  the  dwelling  of 
the  famous  detective. 

Fanferlot  the  Squirrel  was  certainly  not  afraid  of  his 
chief,  as  he  called  him,  for  he  started  off  with  his  nose  in 
the  air,  and  his  hat  cocked  on  one  side.  But  by  the  time 
he  reached  the  Rue  Montmarte,  where  M.  Lecoq  lived, 
his  courage  had  vanished  ;  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
and  hung  his  head,  as  if  looking  for  relief  among  the  pav- 
ing-stones. He  slowly  ascended  the  stairs,  pausing  several 
times,  and  looking  around  as  if  he  would  like  to  fly.  Finally 
he  reached  the  third  floor,  and  stood  before  a  door  dec- 
orated with  the  arms  of  the  famous  detective — a  cock,  the 
symbol  of  vigilance — and  his  heart  failed  him  so  that  he 
had  scarcely  the  courage  to  ring  the  bell. 


So  FILE  NO.  113. 

The  door  was  opened  b}'  Janouille,  M.  Lecoq's  old  serv- 
ant, who  had  very  much  the  manner  and  appearance  of  a 
grenadier.  She  was  as  faithful  to  her  master  as  a  watch- 
dog, and  always  stood  ready  to  attack  any  one  who  did  not 
treat  him  with  the  august  respect  which  she  considered  his 
due.  "  Well,  M.  Fanferlot,"  she  said,  "  you  come  at  a 
right  time  for  once  in  your  life.  The  chief  is  waiting  to 
see  you." 

Upon  this  announcement,  Fanferlot  was  seized  with  a 
violent  desire  to  retreat.  By  what  chance  could  Lecoq  be 
waiting  for  him  ?  While  he  thus  hesitated,  Janouille  seized 
him  by  the  arm,  and  pulled  him  in,  saying  :  "  Do  you  want 
to  take  root  there  ?  Come  along,  the  master  is  busy  at 
work  in  his  study." 

Seated  at  a  desk  in  the  middle  of  a  large  room,  half 
library  and  half  theatrical  dressing-room,  furnished  in  a 
curious  style,  was  the  same  individual  with  gold  spectacles, 
who  had  said  to  Prosper  at  the  Prefecture,  "Have  courage.'' 
This  was  M.  Lecoq  in  his  official  character. 

Fanferlot  on  his  entrance  advanced  respectfully,  bowing 
till  his  back-bone  was  a  perfect  curve.  M.  Lecoq  laid 
down  his  pen,  and  looking  sharply  at  him,  said  :  "  Ah,  so 
here  you  are,  young  man.  Well,  it  seems  that  you  haven't 
aiade  much  progress  in  Bertomy's  case." 

"  What,"  murmured  Fanferlot,  "  you  know — " 

"  I  know  that  you  have  muddled  everything  until  you 
can't  see  your  way  out ;  so  that  you  are  ready  to  give  in." 

"  But,  M.  Lecoq,  it  was  not  I — " 

M.  Lecoq  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  ; 
suddenly  he  confronted  Fanferlot,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
scornful  irony  :  "  What  would  you  think.  Master  Squirrel, 
of  a  man  who  abuses  the  confidence  of  those  who  employ 
him,  who  reveals  just  enough  to  lead  the  prosecution  on 
the  wrong  scent,  who  sacrifices  to  his  own  foolish  vanity 
the  cause  of  justice  and  the  liberty  of  an  unfortunate  pris- 
oner ? " 

Fanferlot  started  back  with  a  scared  look.  "  I  should 
say,"  he  stammered,  "  I  should  say — " 

"  You  would  say  this  man  ought  to  be  punished,  and 
dismissed  from  his  employment ;  and  you  are  right.  The 
less  a  profession  is  honored,  the  more  honorable  should 
diose  be  who  belong  to  it.  And  yet  you  have  been  false 
to  yours.     Ah  !  Master  Squirrel,  we  are  ambitious,  and  we 


PILE  NO.  113.  81 

try  to  make  the  police  service  forward  our  own  views  I 
We  let  justice  go  astray,  and  we  go  on  a  different  tack. 
One  must  be  a  more  cunning  blood-hound  than  you  are, 
my  friend,  to  be  able  to  hunt  without  a  huntsman.  You 
are  too  self-reliant  by  half." 

"  But,  my  chief,  I  swear — " 

"  Silence  !  Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  did  your 
duty,  and  told  all  you  knew  to  the  investigating  magistrate  t 
Whilst  others  were  giving  information  against  the  cashier, 
you  were  getting  up  evidence  against  the  banker.  You 
watch  his  movements  :  you  became  intimate  with  his 
valet." 

Was  M.  Lecoq  really  angry,  or  pretending  to  be  so  ? 
Fanferlot,  who  knew  him  well,  was  puzzled  as  to  whether 
all  this  indignation  was  real. 

"  Still,  if  you  were  only  skilful,"  continued  M.  Lecoq, 
"  it  would  be  another  matter ;  but  no  :  you  wish  to  be  mas- 
ter, and  you  are  not  even  fit  to  be  a  journeyman." 

"  You  are  right,  my  chief,"  said  Fanferlot  piteously,  for 
he  saw  that  it  was  useless  for  him  to  deny  anything. 
"  But  how  could  I  go  about  an  affair  like  this,  where  there 
was  not  even  a  trace,  a  sign  of  any  kind  to  start 
from  ?  " 

M.  Lecoq  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  are  an  ass  !  " 
exclaimed  he.  "  Why,  don't  you  know  that  on  the  very 
day  you  were  sent  for  with  the  commissary  to  verify  the 
fact  of  the  robbery,  you  held — I  do  not  say  certainly,  but 
very  probably  held — in  your  great  stupid  hands  the  means 
of  knowing  which  key  had  been  used  when  the  money 
was  stolen  ?  " 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  want  to  know  do  you  ?  I  will  tell  you.  Do  you 
remember  the  scratch  you  discovered  on  the  safe  '^.  You 
were  so  struck  by  it,  that  you  could  not  refrain  from  call- 
ing out  directly  you  saw  it.  You  carefully  examined  it, 
and  were  convinced  that  it  was  a  fresh  scratch,  only  a  few 
hours  old.  You  thought,  and  rightly  too,  that  this  scratch 
was  made  at  the  time  of  the  theft.  Now,  with  what  was  U 
made  t  Evidently  with  a  ke}'.  That  being  the  case,  you 
should  have  asked  for  the  keys  both  of  the  banker  and 
the  cashier.  One  of  them  would  have  probably  had  some 
particles  of  the  hard  green  paint  sticking  to  it." 

Fanferlot  listened  with  open  mouth  to  this  explanatioa 
6 


82  m,E  NO.  113. 

At  the  last  words,  he  violently  slapped  his  forehead  with 
his  hand  and  cried  out:  "  Idiot !  idiot !  " 

"You  have  correctly  named  yourself,"  said  M.  Lecoq. 
"  Idiot !  This  proof  stares  you  right  in  the  face,  and  you 
don't  see  it !  This  scratch  is  the  only  clue  there  is  to  fol- 
low, and  you  must  like  a  fool  neglect  it.  If  I  find  the 
guilty  party,  it  will  be  by  means  of  this  scratch ;  and  I  am 
determined  that  I  will  find  him." 

At  a  distance  the  Squirrel  very  bravely  abuses  and  defies 
M.  Lecoq  ;  but,  in  his  presence,  he  yields  to  the  influence 
which  this  extraordinary  man  exercises  upon  all  who  ap- 
proach him.  This  exact  information,  these  minute  details 
just  given  him,  so  upset  his  mind  that  he  could  not 
imagine  where  and  how  M.  Lecoq  had  obtained  them. 
Finally  he  humbly  said  :  "  You  have  then  been  occupying 
yourself  with  this  case,  my  chief  ?  " 

"  Probably  I  have ;  but  I  am  not  infallible,  and  riiay 
have  overlooked  some  important  evidence.  Take  a  seat, 
and  tell  me  all  you  know." 

M.  Lecoq  was  not  the  man  to  be  hood-winked,  so  Fan- 
ferlot  told  the  exact  truth,  a  rare  thing  for  him  to  do. 
However,  as  he  reached  the  end  of  his  statement,  a  feel- 
ing of  mortified  vanity  prevented  his  telling  how  he  had 
been  fooled  by  Nina  and  the  stout  man.  Unfortunately 
for  poor  Fanferlot,  M.  Lecoq  was  always  fully  informed 
on  every  subject  in  which  he  interested  himself.  "  It 
seems  to  me.  Master  Squirrel,"  said  he,  "that  you  have 
forgotten  something.  ;  How  far  did  you  follow  the  empty 
cab.?" 

Fanferlot  blushed,  and  hung  his  head  like  a  guilty  school- 
boy. "  Oh,  my  chief !  "  he  cried,  "  and  you  know  all  about 
that  too  !  How  could  you  have — "  But  a  sudden  idea 
flashed  across  his  mind,  he  stopped  short,  bounded  off  his 
chair,  and  exclaimed  :  "  Oh  !  I  know  now :  you  were  the 
stout  gentleman  with  the  red  whiskers." 

His  amazement  gave  so  singular  an  expression  to  his 
face  that  M.  Lecoq  could  not  restrain  a  smile.  "  Then  it 
was  you  !  "  continued  the  bewildered  detective  ;  "  you  were 
the  stout  gentleman  at  whom  I  stared,  so  as  to  impress  his 
appearance  upon  my  mind,  and  I  never  recognized  you  \ 
You  would  make  a  superb  actor,  my  chief,  if  you  would  go 
on  the  stage  ;  but  I  was  disguised  too — very  well  dis* 
guised." 


FILE  AO.  113.  83 

"  Very  poorly  disguised :  it  is  only  just  to  you  that  I 
should  let  you  know  what  a  failure  it  was,  Fanferlot.  Do 
you  think  that  a  huge  beard  and  a  blouse  are  a  sufficient 
transformation  ?  The  eye  is  the  thing  to  be  changed — 
the  eye  !  The  art  lies  in  being  able  to  change  the  eye. 
That  is  the  secret."  This  theory  of  disguise  explained  why 
the  lynx-eyed  Lecoq  never  appeared  at  the  Pre'fecture  of 
Police  without  his  gold  spectacles. 

"  Then,  my  chief,"  said  Fanferlot,  clinging  to  his  idea, 
"  you  have  been  more  successful  than  Madame  Alexandre  ; 
you  have  made  the  little  girl  confess  ?  You  know  why  she 
leaves  the  Grand  Archangel,  why  she  does  not  wait  for 
M.  de  Lagors,  and  why  she  has  bought  herself  some  cot- 
ton dresses  ?  " 

"  She  is  following  my  advice." 

"  That  being  the  case,"  said  the  detective  dejectedly, 
"  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,  but  to  acknowledge 
myself  an  ass." 

"  No,  Squirrel,"  said  M.  Lecoq  kindly,  "  you  are  not  an 
ass.  You  merely  did  wrong  in  undertaking  a  task  be- 
yond your  capacity.  Have  you  progressed  one  step  since 
you  started  in  this  affair  ?  No.  That  shows  that,  although 
you  are  incomparable  as  a  lieutenant,  you  do  not  possess 
the  qualities  of  a  general.  I  am  going  to  present  you 
with  an  aphorism  •  remember  it,  and  let  it  be  your  guide 
in  the  future  :  A  man  can  shine  in  the  second  ra?ik,  who 
would  be  totally  eclipsed  in  the  first P 

Never  had  Fanferlot  seen  his  chief  so  talkative  and  sood- 
natured.  Finding  his  deceit  discovered,  he  had  expected 
to  be  overwhelmed  with  a  storm  of  anger ;  whereas  he  had 
e«caped  with  a  little  shower  that  had  cooled  his  brain. 
Lecoq's  anger  disappeared  like  one  of  those  heavy  clouds 
which  threaten  in  the  horizon  for  a  moment,  and  then  are 
suddenly  swept  away  by  a  gust  of  wind. 

But  this  unexpected  affability  made  Fanferlot  feel  un- 
easy. He  was  afraid  that  something  might  be  concealed 
beneath  it.  "  Do  you  know  who  the  thief  is,  my  chief  "i  " 
he  inquired. 

'•  I  know  no  more  than  you  do,  Fanferlot ;  and  you  seem 
to  have  made  up  your  mind,  whereas  I  am  still  undecided. 
You  declare  the  cashier  to  be  innocent,  and  the  banker 
guilty.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  right  or  wrong.  I 
tollow  after  you,  and  have  got  no  further  than  the  prelim* 


Mi  PILE  NO.  113. 

inaries  of  my  investigation.  I  am  certain  of  but  one  thing, 
^nd  that  is,  the  scratch  on  the  safe-door.  That  scratch  is 
my  starting-point." 

As  he  spoke,  M.  Lecoq  took  from  his  desk  an  immense 
sheet  of  paper  which  he  unrolled.  On  this  paper  was  pho- 
tographed the  door  of  M.  Fauvel's  safe.  Every  detail 
was  rendered  perfectly.  There  were  the  five  movable  but- 
tons with  the  engraved  letters,  and  the  narrow,  project- 
ing brass  lock.  The  scratch  was  indicated  with  great 
exactness. 

"  Now,"  said  M.  Lecoq,  "  here  is  our  scratch.  It  runs 
from  top  to  bottom,  starting  diagonally,  from  the  keyhole, 
and  proceeding  from  left  to  right ;  that  is  to  say  it  termi- 
nates on  the  side  next  to  the  private  staircase  leading  to 
the  banker's  apartments.  Although  very  deep  at  the  key- 
hole, it  ends  in  a  scarcely  perceptible  mark." 

"  Yes,  my  chief,  I  see  all  that." 

"  Naturally  you  thought  that  this  scratch  was  made  by 
the  person  who  took  the  money.  Let  us  see  if  you  were 
right.  I  have  here  a  little  iron  box,  painted  green  like  M. 
Fauvel's  safe  ;  here  it  is.  Take  a  key,  and  try  to  scratch 
it." 

"  The  deuce  take  it !  "  said  Fanferlot  after  several  at- 
tempts, "  this  paint  is  awfully  hard  to  move  !  " 

"  Very  hard,  my  friend,  and  yet  that  on  the  safe  is  harder 
still,  and  more  solid.  So  you  see  the  scratch  you  dis- 
covered could  not  have  been  made  by  the  trembling  hand 
of  a  thief  letting  the  key  slip." 

"  Sapristi !  "  exclaimed  Fanferlot  amazed  ;  "  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  that.  It  certainly  required  great 
force  to  make  the  deep  scratch  on  the  safe." 

"  Yes,  but  how  was  that  force  applied  t  I  have  been 
racking  my  brain  for  three  days,  and  it  was  only  yesterday 
that  I  came  to  a  conclusion.  Let  us  examine  if  my  con- 
jectures present  enough  chances  of  probability  to  establish 
a  starting-point." 

M.  Lecoq  put  the  photograph  aside,  and,  walking  to  the 
door  communicating  with  his  bedroom,  took  the  key  from 
the  lock,  and,  holding  it  in  his  hands,  said  :  "  Come  here, 
Fanferlot,  and  stand  by  my  side,  there  ;  very  well.  Now 
suppose  that  I  want  to  open  this  door,  and  that  you  don't 
wish  me  to  open  it ;  when  you  see  me  about  to  insert  the 
key,  what  would  be  your  first  impulse  1  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  S3 

"  To  put  my  hands  on  your  arm,  and  draw  it  towards 
me  so  as  to  prevent  your  introducing  the  key." 

"  Precisely  so.  Now  let  us  try  it ;  go  on."  Fanferlot 
obeyed ;  and  the  key  held  by  M.  Lecoq,  pulled  aside  from 
the  lock,  slipped  along  the  door,  and  traced  upon  it,  from 
above  to  below  a  diagonal  scratch,  the  exact  reproduction 
of  the  one  in  the  photograph. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  exclaimed  Fanferlot  in  three  different 
tones  of  admiration,  as  he  stood  gazing  in  a  reverie  at  the 
door. 

"  Do  you  begin  to  understand  ?  "  asked  M.  Lecoq. 

"Understand,  my  chief?  Why,  a  child  could  under- 
stand it  now.  Ah,  what  a  man  you  are  !  I  see  the  scene 
as  if  I  had  been  there.  Two  persons  were  present  at  the 
robbery  ;  one  wished  to  take  the  money,  the  other  wished 
to  prevent  its  being  taken.     That  is  clear,  that  is  certain." 

Accustomed  to  triumphs  of  this  sort,  M.  Lecoq  was 
much  amused  at  Fanferlot's  enthusiasm.  "  There  you  go 
off,  half-primed  again,"  he  said  good-humoredly ;  "  you 
regard  as  certain  proof  a  circumstance  which  may  be  ac- 
cidental, and  at  the  most  only  probable." 

"  No,  my  chief  ;  no  !  a  man  like  you  could  not  be  mis- 
taken ;  doubt  is  no  longer  possible." 

"  That  being  the  case,  what  deductions  would  you  draw 
from  our  discovery  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  it  proves  that  I  am  correct  in  think- 
ing the  cashier  innocent." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Because,  being  at  perfect  liberty  to  open  the  safe  when- 
ever he  wished  to  do  so,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  hava 
had  a  witness  present  when  he  intended  to  commit  th^ 
theft." 

"  Well  reasoned,  Fanferlot.  But  on  this  supposition  the 
banker  would  be  equally  innocent ;  reflect  a  little." 

Fanferlot  reflected,  and  all  his  confidence  vanished. 
"You  are  right, '  he  said  in  a  despairing  tone.  "What 
can  be  done  now  ? " 

"  Look  for  the  third  rogue,  or  rather  the  real  rogue,  the 
one  who  opened  the  safe,  and  stole  the  notes,  and  who  is 
still  at  large,  while  others  are  suspected." 

"  Impossible,  my  chief,  impossible  !  Don't  you  know 
that  M.  Fauvel  and  his  cashier  had  keys,  and  they  only  ? 
And  they  always  kept  these  keys  in  their  possession." 


S6  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  robbery  the  banker  left  his  ke) 
in  his  escritoire." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  key  alone  was  not  sufficient  to  open  the 
safe ;  it  was  necessary  that  the  word  also  should  be 
known." 

M.  Lecoq  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatientlyc  "What 
was  the  word  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Gipsy." 

"Which  is  the  name  of  the  cashier's  mistress.  Now 
keep  your  eyes  open.  The  day  you  find  a  man  sufficiently 
intimate  with  Prosper  to  be  aware  of  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  this  name,  and  who  is  at  the  same  time  on 
such  a  footing  with  the  Fauvel  family  as  would  give  him 
the  privilege  of  entering  M.  Fauvel's  chamber,  then,  and 
not  until  then,  will  you  discover  the  guilty  party.  On 
that  day  the  problem  will  be  solved." 

Self-sufficient  and  vain,  like  all  famous  men,  M.  Lecoq 
had  never  had  a  pupil,  and  never  wished  to  have  one.  He 
worked  alone,  because  he  hated  assistants,  wishing  to  share 
neither  the  pleasures  of  success  nor  the  pain  of  defeat. 
Thus  Fanferlot,  who  knew  his  chief's  character,  was  as- 
tonished to  hear  him  giving  advice,  who  heretofore  had 
only  given  orders.  He  was  so  puzzled,  that  in  spite  of 
his  preoccupation  he  could  not  help  betraying  his  surprise. 
"  My  chief,"  he  ventured  to  say,  "  you  seem  to  take  a 
great  interest  in  this  affair,  you  have  so  deeply  studied  it." 

M.  Lecoq  started  nervously,  and  replied,  frowning : 
"  You  are  too  curious  Master  Squirrel ;  be  careful  that 
you  do  not  go  too  far.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Fanferlot  began  to  apologize. 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  M.  Lecoq.  "If  I  choose 
to  lend  you  a  helping  hand,  it  is  because  it  suits  my  fancy 
to  do  so.  It  pleases  me  to  be  the  head,  and  to  let  you  be 
the  hand.  Unassisted,  with  your  preconceived  ideas,  you 
never  would  have  found  the  culprit ;  if  we  two  together 
don't  find  him,  my  name  is  not  Lecoq." 

"  We  shall  certainly  succeed,  as  you  interest  yourself  in 
the  case." 

"Yes,  I  am  interested  in  it,  and  during  the  last  four 
days  I  have  discovered  many  important  facts.  But  listen 
to  me.  I  have  reasons  for  not  appearing  in  this  affair. 
No  matter  what  happens,  I  forbid  you  mentioning  my 
name.     If  we  succeed,  all  the  success  must  be  attributed 


FILE  NO.  113.  87 

V--  you.  And,  above  all,  don't  try  to  find  out  what  I  choose 
to  keep  from  you.  Be  satisfied  with  what  explanations  I 
give  you.     Now,  be  careful." 

These  conditions  seemed  to  suit  Fanferlot  perfectly 
"  I  will  obey  your  instructions  and  be  discreet,"  he  replied. 

"  I  shall  rely  upon  you,"  continued  M.  Lecoq.  "  Now. 
to  begin,  you  must  carry  this  photograph  to  the  investiga- 
ting magistrate.  I  know  M.  Patrigent  is  much  perplexed 
about  the  case.  Explain  to  him  as  if  it  were  your  own 
discovery,  what  I  have  just  shown  you  ;  repeat  for  his  ben- 
efit the  experiment  we  have  performed,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  this  evidence  will  determine  him  to  release  the  cash- 
ier. Prosper  must  be  at  liberty  before  I  can  commence 
my  operations." 

"  Of  course,  my  chief ;  but  must  I  let  him  know  that  I 
suspect  any  one  besides  the  banker  or  cashier  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  The  authorities  must  not  be  kept  in  ignor- 
ance of  your  intention  of  following  up  this  affair.  M.  Patri- 
gent will  tell  you  to  watch  Prosper  ;  3^ou  will  reply  that  you 
•svill  not  lose  sight  of  him.  I  myself  will  answer  for  his  be- 
ing in  safe  keeping." 

"  Suppose  he  asks  me  about  Nina  Gipsy  ?  " 

M.  Lecoq  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  Tell  him,"  he 
finally  said,  "  that  you  persuaded  her,  in  the  interest  of 
Prosper,  to  live  in  a  house  where  she  can  watch  some  one 
*\?hom  you  suspect." 

Fanferlot  rolled  up  the  photograph  and  joyously  seized 
hold  of  his  hat,  intending  to  depart,  when  M.  Lecoq  checked 
him  by  waving  his  hand,  and  said  :  "  I  have  not  finished 
yet.  Do  you  know  how  to  drive  a  carriage  and  manage 
horses  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  as  this,  my  chief,  of 
a  man  who  used  to  be  a  rider  in  the  Bouthor  Circus  1 " 

"  Very  good.  As  soon  as  the  magistrate  dismisses  you, 
return  home  immediately,  obtain  for  yourself  a  wig  and  the 
complete  dress  of  a  valet ;  and,  when  you  are  ready,  take 
this  letter  to  the  agency  for  servants  at  the  corner  of  the 
Passage  Delorme." 

"  But,  my  chief—" 

"  There  must  be  no  but,  my  friend  ;  the  agent  will  send 
you  to  M.  de  Clameran,  who  is  wanting  a  valet,  his  man 
having  left  him  yesterday." 

"  J/Xcuse  me,  if  I  venture  to  suggest  that  I  think  you  ar^ 


88  FILE  2V0.  113. 

laboring  under  a  wrong  impression.     This  De  Clameran 
is  not  the  cashier's  friend." 

"  Why  do  you  always  interrupt  me  ?  "  said  M.  Lecoq 
imperiously.  "  Do  what  I  tell  you,  ard  don't  disturb  your 
mind  about  the  rest.  I  know  that  De  Clameran  is  not  a 
friend  of  Prosper's ;  but  he  is  the  friend  and  protector  of 
Raoul  de  Lagors.  Why  so  ?  Whence  the  intimacy  of 
,these  two  men  of  such  different  ages  .'*  That  is  what  1 
must  find  out.  I  must  also  find  out  who  this  ironmaster 
is  who  spends  all  his  time  in  Paris,  and  never  goes  to  look 
after  his  forges.  An  individual,  who  takes  it  into  his  head 
to  live  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  in  the  midst  of  a  constantly 
changing  crowd,  is  a  fellow  difficult  to  watch.  Through 
you  I  will  keep  an  eye  upon  him.  He  has  a  carriage, 
which  you  will  have  to  drive  ;  and  you  will  soon  be  able 
to  give  me  an  account  of  his  manner  of  life,  and  of  the  sort 
of  people  with  whom  he  associates." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  my  chief." 

"  Another  thing.  M.  de  Clameran  is  irritable  and  sus- 
picious. You  will  be  presented  to  him  under  the  name  of 
Joseph  Dubois.  He  will  ask  for  certificates  of  your  good 
character.  Here  are  three,  which  state  that  you  have 
lived  with  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Count  de 
Commarin,  and  that  you  have  just  left  the  Baron  de  Worts- 
chen,  who  went  to  Germany  the  other  day.  Now  keep 
your  eyes  open  ;  be  careful  of  your  get-up  and  manners. 
Be  polite,  but  not  excessively  so.  And,  above  all  things, 
don't  be  too  honest:  it  might  arouse  suspicion." 

"  I  understand,  my  chief.  Where  shall  I  report  to 
you  ? " 

"  I  will  see  you  daily.  Until  I  tell  you  differently,  don't 
put  foot  in  this  house ;  you  might  be  followed.  If  any 
thing  important  should  happen,  send  a  telegram  to  your 
wife,  and  she  will  inform  me.     Go,  and  be  prudent." 

The  door  closed  on  Fanferlot  as  M.  Lecoq  passed  into 
his  bedroom.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  latter  divestec 
himself  of  the  apperance  of  chief  detective.  He  took  off 
his  stiff  cravat  and  gold  spectacles  and  removed  the  close 
wig  from  his  thick  black  hair.  The  official  Lecoq  had  dis- 
appeared, leaving  in  his  place  the  genuine  Lecoq  whom 
nobody  knew — a  good-looking  young  man,  with  a  bold, 
determined  manner,  and  brilliant,  piercing  eyes.  But  he 
pnlv  repiained  himself  iox  an  instant.     Seated  bc^for^  9 


FILE  NO.  113.  S^ 

dressing-table  covered  with  more  cosmetics,  paints,  per- 
fumes, false  hair,  and  other  shams,  than  are  to  be  found 
on  the  toilet-tables  of  our  modern  belles,  he  began  to  undo 
the  work  of  nature  and  to  make  himself  a  new  face.  He 
worked  slowly,  handling  his  brushes  with  great  care.  But 
in  an  hour  he  had  accomplished  one  of  his  daily  master- 
pieces. When  he  had  finished,  he  was  no  longer  Lecoq  : 
he  was  the  stout  gentleman  with  red  whiskers,  whom  Fan- 
ferlot  had  failed  to  recognize. 

"Well,"  he  said,  casting  a  last  look  in  the  mirror,  "I 
have  forgotten  nothing :  I  have  left  nothing  to  chance. 
All  my  plans  are  fixed ;  and  I  shall  make  some  progress 
to-day,  provided  the  Squirrel  does  not  waste  time." 

But  Fanferlot  was  too  happy  to  waste  even  a  minute. 
He  did  not  run,  he  flew,  towards  the  Palais  de  Justice. 
At  last  he  was  able  to  convince  some  one  that  he,  Fanfer- 
lot, was  a  man  of  wonderful  perspicacity.  As  to  acknowl- 
edging that  he  was  about  to  obtain  a  triumph  with  the  ideas 
of  another  man,  he  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  It  is 
generally  in  perfect  good  faith  that  the  jackdaw  struts 
about  in  the  peacock's  feathers. 

Fanferlot's  hopes  were  not  deceived.  If  the  magistrate 
was  not  absolutely  convinced,  he  admired  the  ingenuity 
and  shrewdness  of  the  whole  proceeding.  "  This  decides 
me,"  he  said,  as  he  dismissed  Fanferlot.  "  I  will  draw  up 
a  favorable  report  to-day ;  and  it  is  highly  probable  that 
the  accused  will  be  released  to-morrow."  He  began  at 
once  to  write  out  one  of  those  terrible  decisions  of  "  Not 
proven,"  which  restores  liberty,  but  not  honor,  to  the  ac- 
cused man  ;  which  says  that  he  is  not  guilty,  but  does  not 
say  that  he  is  innocent : 

"  Whereas  sufficient  proofs  are  wanting  against  the  ac- 
cused, Prosper  Bertomy,  in  pursuance  of  Article  128  of 
the  Criminal  Code,  we  hereby  declare  that  no  grounds  at 
present  exist  for  prosecuting  the  aforesaid  prisoner;  and 
we  order  that  he  be  released  from  the  prison  where  he  is 
confined,  and  set  at  liberty  by  the  jailer,"  &c. 

"  Well,"  said  he  to  the  clerk,  "  here  we  have  another  of 
those  crimes  which  justice  cannot  clear  up.  The  mystery 
remains  to  be  solved.  There  is  another  file  to  be  stowed 
away  among  the  police  records."  And  wdth  his  own  hand 
he  wrote  on  the  cover  of  the  bundle  of  papers  relating  to 
Prosper's  case,  its  number  of  rotation  :  File  No,  1 13. 


go  FILE  NO.  113. 


VII. 

Prosper  had  been  languishing  in  his  cell  for  nine  days, 
when  one  Thursday  morning  the  jailer  came  to  apprise 
him  of  the  magistrate's  decision.  He  was  conducted  be- 
fore  the  officer  who  had  searched  him  when  he  was  arrested ; 
and  his  watch,  penknife,  and  several  small  articles  of  jew- 
ellery, were  restored  to  him  ;  then  he  was  told  to  sign  a 
large  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  did. 

He  was  next  led  across  a  dark  passage,  and  almost 
pushed  through  a  door,  which  was  abruptly  shut  upon  him- 
He  found  himself  on  the  quay :  he  was  alone  ;  he  wa^ 
free. 

Free  !  Justice  had  confessed  her  inability  to  convict 
him  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused.  Free  !  He 
could  walk  about,  he  could  breathe  the  fresh  air ;  but  every 
door  would  be  closed  against  him.  Only  acquittal  after 
due  trial  would  restore  him  to  his  former  position  amon^ 
men.  A  decision  of  "  Not  proven  "  had  left  him  exposed 
to  continual  suspicion. 

The  torments  inflicted  by  public  opinion  are  more  fear- 
ful than  those  endured  in  a  prison  cell.  At  the  moment 
of  his  "restoration  to  liberty,  Prosper  suffered  so  cruelly 
from  the  horror  of  his  situation,  that  he  could  not  repress  a 
cry  of  rage  and  despair.  "  I  am  innocent !  God  knows  i 
am  innocent !  "  he  cried  out.  But  of  what  use  was  his  an- 
ger .f*  Two  strangers,  who  were  passing,  stopped  to  look 
at  him,  and  said  pityingly  :  "  The  poor  fellow  is  crazy." 

The  Seine  was  at  his  feet.  A  thought  of  suicide  crossed 
his  mind.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  no  !  I  have  not  even  the  right 
to  kill  myself.  No  :  I  will  not  die  until  I  have  proved  my 
innocence ! " 

Often,  day  and  night,  had  Prosper  repeated  these  words, 
as  he  walked  his  cell.  With  a  heart  filled  with  a  bitter, 
determined  thirst  for  vengeance,  which  gives  a  man  the 
force  and  patience  to  destroy  or  wear  out  all  obstacles  in 
his  way,  he  would  say  :  "  Oh  !  why  am  I  not  at  liberty  ?  I 
am  helpless,  caged  up  ;  but  let  me  once  be  free  !  "  Now 
he  was  free  ;  and  for  the  first  time  he  saw  the  diff'iculties 
of  the  task  before  him.  For  each  crime,  justice  requires 
a  criminal  •  he  co^M  not  establish  his  own  innocence  with' 


FILE  NO.  113.  91 

out  p"«5ducing  the  guilty  individual,  how  was  he  to  find  the 
thief  and  hand  him  over  to  the  law  ? 

Despondent,  but  not  discouraged,  Prosper  turned  in  the 
direction  of  his  apartments.  He  was  beset  by  a  thousand 
anxieties.  What  had  taken  place  during  the  nine  days 
that  he  had  been  cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with  his 
friends  .'*  No  news  of  them  had  reached  him.  He  had 
heard  no  more  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  outside  world, 
than  if  his  secret  cell  had  been  a  tomb.  He  walked  slowly 
along  the  streets,  with  his  eyes  cast  down,  dreading  to 
meet  some  familiar  face.  He,  who  had  always  been  so 
haughty,  would  now  be  pointed  at  with  the  finger  of  scorn. 
He  would  be  greeted  with  cold  looks  and  averted  faces. 
Men  would  refuse  to  shake  hands  with  him.  Still,  if  he 
could  count  on  only  one  true  friend  !  Yes,  only  one.  But 
what  friend  would  believe  him  when  his  father,  who  should 
have  been  the  last  to  suspect  him,  had  refused  to  believe 
him  ? 

In  the  midst  of  his  sufferings,  when  he  felt  almost  over- 
whelmed by  the  sense  of  his  wretched,  lonely  condition, 
Prosper  thought  of  Nina  Gipsy.  He  had  never  loved  the 
poor  girl  :  indeed,  at  times  he  almost  hated  her ;  but  now 
he  felt  a  longing  to  see  her,  because  he  knew  that  she  loved 
him,  and  that  nothing  would  make  her  think  him  guilty  ; 
because,  too,  woman  remains  true  and  firm  in  her  belief, 
and  is  always  faithful  in  the  hour  of  adversity,  although 
she  sometimes  fails  in  prosperity. 

On  reaching  his  house  in  the  Rue  Chaptal,  Prosper  hes- 
itated at  the  moment  he  was  about  to  cross  the  threshold. 
He  suffered  from  the  timidity  which  an  honest  man  always 
feels  when  he  knows  he  is  regarded  with  suspicion.  He 
dreaded  meeting  any  one  whom  he  knew  ;  still  he  could 
not  remain  in  the  street,  so  he  entered.  When  the  con- 
cierge saw  him,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  glad  surprise, 
and  said  :  "Ah,  here  you  are  at  last,  sir.  I  told  every  one 
you  would  come  out  as  white  as  snow ;  and,  when  I  read 
m  the  papers  that  you  were  arrested  for  robbery,  I  said, 
"  My  third-floor  lodger  a  thief  !  Never  would  I  believe 
such  a  thing,  never  !  " 

The  congratulations  of  this  ignorant  man  were  sincere, 
and  came  from  pure  kindness  of  heart ;  but  they  impressed 
Prosper  painfully  and  he  cut  them  short  by  abruptly  ^^ 


92  FILE  NO.  113. 

claiming :  "  Madame  of  course  has  left ;  can  you  tell  me 
where  she  has  gone  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  no,  I  cannot.  The  day  of  your  arrest,  she 
sent  for  a  cab  and  left  with  her  trunks,  and  no  one  has 
seen  or  heard  of  her  since." 

This  was  another  blow  to  the  unhappy  cashier.  "  And 
where  are  my  servants  .''  " 

"  Gone,  sir.  Your  father  paid  them  their  wages,  and 
discharged  them." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  you  have  my  key  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  when  your  father  left  here  this  morning  at 
eight  o'clock,  he  told  me  that  a  friend  of  his  would  take 
charge  of  your  rooms  until  you  returned.  Of  course 
you  know  who  he  is — a  stout  gentleman  with  red 
whiskers." 

Prosper  was  astounded.  What  could  be  the  meaning  of 
one  of  his  father's  friends  occupying  his  rooms  ?  He  did 
not,  however,  betray  his  surprise,  but  quietly  said  :  "  YeSp 
I  know  who  it  is." 

He  quickly  ran  up  the  stairs,  and  knocked  at  his  door, 
which  was  at  once  opened  by  his  father's  friend.  He  had 
been  accurately  described  by  the  concierge.  A  stout  man, 
with  a  red  face,  full  lips,  sharp  eyes,  and  of  rather  coarse 
manners,  stood  bowing  to  Prosper,  who  had  never  seen 
him  before.  "  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir," 
said  he. 

He  seemed  to  be  perfectly  at  home.     On  the  table  lay 
a  book,  which  he  had  taken  from  the   bookcase  ;  and  he 
appeared  ready  to  do  the  honors  of  the  place. 
^     "  I  must  say,  sir,"  began  Prosper. 

"  That  you  are  surprised  to  find  me  here  ?  Sol  suppose. 
Your  father  intended  introducing  me  to  you  ;  but  he  was 
compelled  to  return  to  Beaucaire  this  morning  ;  and  let 
me  add  that  he  departed  thoroughly  convinced,  as  I  my- 
self am,  that  you  never  took  a  sou  from  M.  Fauvel." 

At  this  unexpcGted  good  news,  Prosper's  face  lit  up  with 
pleasure. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  your  father,  which  I  hope  will 
serve  as  an  introduction  between  us." 

Prosper  opened  the  letter ;  and  as  he  read  his  eyes  grew 
brighter,  and  a  slight  color  returned  to  his  pale  face. 
When  he  had  finished  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  stout 
gentleman,  and  said ;  "My  father  tells  me,  sir,  that  you 


FILE  NO.  113.  93 

are  his  best  friend  ;  he  advises  me  to  have  absolute  confi- 
dence in  you,  and  to  follow  your  advice." 

"  Exactly.  This  morning  your  father  said  to  me  :  *  Ver- 
duret ' — that  is  my  name — '  Verduret,  my  son  is  in  great 
trouble,  and  must  be  helped  out  of  it.'  I  replied  :  '  I  am 
both  ready  and  willing,'  and  here  I  am  to  assist  you.  Now 
the  ice  is  broken,  is  it  not  ?  Then  let  us  go  to  work  at 
once.     What  do  you  intend  doing  ?  " 

This  question  revived  Prosper's  slumbering  rage.  His 
eyes  flashed.  "  What  do  I  intend  doing  t  "  said  he  angrily  ; 
"  What  should  I  do  but  seek  the  villain  who  has  ruined 
me  ? " 

"  So  I  supposed ;  but  have  you  any  means  of  suc- 
cess ? " 

"  None  ;  yet  I  shall  succeed,  because,  when  a  man  de- 
votes  his  whole  life  to  the  accomplishment  of  an  object, 
he  is  certain  to  achieve  it." 

"  Well  said,  M.  Prosper  ;  and,  to  be  frank,  I  fully  ex- 
pected that  this  would  be  your  purpose.  I  have  therefore 
already  begun  to  think  and  act  for  you.  I  have  a  plan. 
In  the  first  place,  you  will  sell  this  furniture,  and  disap- 
pear from  the  neighborhood." 

"  Disappear  !  "  cried  Prosper  indignantly  ;  "  disappear  ! 
Why,  sir  !  do  you  not  see  that  such  a  step  would  be  a  con- 
fession of  guilt,  would  authorize  the  world  to  say  that  I 
am  hiding  so  as  to  enjoy  undisturbed  the  stolen  350,000 
francs  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  then  ? "  said  the  man  with  the  red  whis- 
kers ;  "  did  you  not  say  just  now  that  the  sacrifice  of  your 
life  is  made  ?  The  expert  swimmer  thrown  into  the  river, 
after  being  robbed,  is  careful  not  to  rise  to  the  surface  im- 
mediately :  on  the  contrary,  he  plunges  beneath,  and  re- 
mains there  as  long  as  his  iDreath  holds  out.  He  comes 
up  again  at  a  great  distance  off,  and  lands  out  of  sight ; 
then,  when  he  is  supposed  to  be  dead,  he  suddenly  reap- 
pears and  has  his  revenge.  You  have  a  enemy  ?  Some 
petty  imprudence  will  betray  him.  But,  while  he  sees  you 
standing  by  on  the  watch,  he  will  be  on  his  guard." 

It  was  with  a  sort  of  amazed  submission  that  Prosper 
listened  to  this  man,  who,  though  a  friend  of  his  father, 
was  an  utter  stranger  to  himself.  He  submitted  uncon- 
sciously to  the  ascendency  of  a  nature  so  much  more  ener- 
getic and  forcible  than  his  own.     In  h:s  helpless  condition 


94  FILE  NO.  113. 

he  was  grateful  for  friendly  assistance,  and  said  :  "  I  will 
follow  your  advice,  sir." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would,  my  dear  fellow.  Let  us  reflect 
upon  the  course  you  ought  to  pursue.  And  remember 
that  you  will  need  every  franc  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale. 
Have  you  any  ready  money  ?  no,  but  you  must  have  some. 
Knowing  that  you  would  need  this  at  once,  I  have 
already  spoken  to  an  upholsterer;  and  he  will  give  you 
twelve  thousand  francs  for  everything,  minus  the  pic- 
tures." 

The  cashier  could  not  refrain  from  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, which  M.  Verduret  observed.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  it 
is  rather  hard,  I  admit,  but  it  is  a  necessity.  Now  listen  : 
you  are  the  invalid,  and  I  am  the  doctor  charged  to  cure 
you  ;  if  I  cut  to  the  quick,  you  will  have  to  endure  it.  It 
is  the  only  way  to  save  you." 

"  Cut  away  then,"  answered  Prosper. 
"  Well,  we  will  make  haste,  for  time  presses.     You  have 
a  friend,  M.  de  Lagors  ? " 

"  Raoul  ?     Yes,  he  is  an  intimate  friend  of  mine." 
"  Now  tell  me,  who  is  this  fellow  ?  " 
The  term  "  fellow  "  seemed  to  offend  Prosper.     "  M.  de 
Lagors,"  he  said  haughtily,  "  is  M.  Fauvel's  nephew ;  he 
is  a  wealthy  young  man,  handsome,  intelligent,  cultivated, 
and  the  best  friend  I  have." 

"  Hum !  "  said  M.  Verduret,  "  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  one  adorned  by  so  many  charm- 
ing qualities.  I  must  let  you  know  that  I  wrote  him  a  note 
in  your  name  asking  him  to  come  here,  and  he  sent  word 
that  he  would  come." 

"  What !  do  you  suppose — " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  nothing  !  Only  I  must  see  this  young 
man.  Also  I  have  arranged  and  will  submit  to  you  a  lit- 
tle plan  of  conversation — "  A  ring  at  the  outer  door  in- 
terrupted M.  Verduret.  "  The  deuce  !  "  exclaimed  he  ; 
"  adieu  to  my  plan  ;  here  he  is  !  Where  can  I  hide  so  as 
to  both  hear  and  see  ?  " 

*'  There,  in  my  bedroom ;  leave  the  door  open  and  the 
curtain  down." 

A  second  ring  was  heard.  "  Now  remember,  Prosper," 
said  M.  Verduret  in  a  warning  tone,  "  not  one  word  to  this 
man  about  your  plans,  or  about  me.  Pretend  to  be  dis- 
couraged, helpless,  and  undecided  what  to  do,"     And  hQ 


FILE  NO.  IT3.  95 

disappeared  behind  the  curtain,  as  Prosper  ran  to  open 
the  door. 

Prosper's  portrait  of  M.  de  Lagors  was  no  exaggerated 
one.  Such  an  open  and  handsome  countenance,  and 
manly  figure,  could  belong  only  to  a  noble  character.  Al- 
though Raoul  said  that  he  was  twenty-four,  he  appeared  to 
be  not  more  than  twenty.  He  had  a  fine  figure,  well  knit 
and  supple  ;  an  abundance  of  light  chestnut-colored  hair, 
curled  over  his  intelligent-looking  forehead,  and  his  large 
blue  eyes,  which  beamed  with  candor.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  throw  himself  into  Prosper's  arms.  "  My  poor, 
•dear  friend  !  "  he  said,  "  my  poor  Prosper  !  " 

But  beneath  these  affectionate  demonstrations  there  was 
a  certain  constraint,  which,  if  it  escaped  the  perception  of 
the  cashier,  was  noticed  by  M.  Verduret.  "  Your  letter, 
my  dear  Prosper,"  said  Raoul,  "made  me  almost  ill,  I  was 
so  frightened  by  it.  I  asked  myself  if  you  could  have  lost 
your  mind.  Then  I  put  aside  everything,  to  hasten  to 
your  assistance ;  and  here  I  am." 

Prosper  did  not  seem  to  hear  him  ;  his  thoughts  were 
occupied  with  the  letter  which  he  had  not  written.  What 
were  its  contents  .''  Who  was  this  stranger  whose  assist- 
ance he  had  accepted  ? 

"  You  must  not  feel  discouraged,"  continued  M.  de 
Lagors  ;  "  you  are  young  enough  to  commence  life  anew. 
Your  friends  are  still  left  to  you.  I  have  come  to  say  to 
you  :  *  Rely  upon  me  ;  I  am  rich,  half  of  my  fortune  is  at 
your  disposal.'  " 

This  generous  offer,  made  at  a  moment  like  this  with 
such  frank  simplicity,  deeply  touched  Prosper.  "  Thanks, 
Raoul,"  he  said  with  emotion,  "  thank  you  !  But  unfortu- 
nately all  the  money  in  the  world  would  be  of  no  use  now." 

"  Why  so  ?  What,  then,  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Do  you 
propose  to  remain  in  Paris  •?  " 

"  I  know  not,  Raoul.  I  have  formed  no  plans  yet.  My 
mind  is  too  confused  for  me  to  think." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  to  do,"  resumed  Raoul  quickly; 
"  you  must  start  afresh ;  until  this  mysterious  robbery  13 
explained  you  must  keep  aw^ay  from  Paris.  Excuse  my 
frankness,  but  it  will  never  do  for  you  to  remain  here." 

"And  suppose  it  never  should  be  explained  ?  " 

"  Only  the  more  reason  for  your  remaining  in  oblivion. 
I  have  been  talking  about  you  to  De  Clameran.     '  If  J 


^  FILE  NO,  113. 

were  in  Prosper 's  place,'  he  said,  *  I  would  turn  everything 
into  money,  and  embark  for  America ;  there  I  would  make 
a  fortune,  and  return  to  crush  with  my  millions  those  who 
have  suspected  me.' " 

This  advice  offended  Prosper's  pride,  but  he  interposed 
no  kind  of  objection.  He  was  recalling  to  mind  what  his 
unknown  visitor  had  said  to  him.  "  I  will  think  it  over," 
he  finally  observed.  "  I  will  see.  I  should  like  to  know 
what  M.  Fauvel  says." 

"  My  uncle  ?  I  suppose  you  know  that  I  have  declined 
the  offer  he  made  me  to  enter  his  banking-house,  and  we 
have  almost  quarrelled.  I  have  not  set  foot  in  his  house 
for  over  a  month  ;  but  I  hear  of  him  occasionally." 

"  Through  whom  ?  " 

"  Through  your  friend  Cavaillon.  My  uncle,  they  say, 
is  more  distressed  by  this  affair  than  you  are.  He  does 
not  attend  to  his  business,  and  seems  as  though  he  had 
just  recovered  from  some  serious  illness." 

"'  And  Madame  Fauvel,  and — "  Prosper  hesitated — "  and 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine,  how  are  they .''  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Raoul  lightly,  "  my  aunt  is  as  pious  as  ever ; 
she  has  mass  said  for  the  benefit  of  the  sinner.  As  to 
my  handsome,  icy  cousin,  she  cannot  bring  herself  down 
to  common  matters,  because  she  is  entirely  absorbed  in 
preparing  for  the  fancy  ball  to  be  given  the  day  after  to- 
morrow by  MM.  Jandidier.  She  has  discovered,  so  one  of 
her  friends  told  me,  a  wonderful  dressmaker,  a  stranger  w^ho 
has  suddenly  appeared  from  no  one  knows  where,  and  who 
is  making  for  her  a  costume  of  one  of  Catherine  de  Medicis* 
maids  of  honor.     I  hear  it  is  to  be  a  marvel  of  beauty." 

Excessive  suffering  brings  with  it  a  kind  of  dull  insensi- 
bility and  stupor ;  but  this  last  remark  of  M.  de  Lagors' 
touched  Prosper  to  the  quick,  and  he  murmured  faintly  : 
*'  Madeleine  !     O  Madeleine  !  " 

M.  de  Lagors,  pretending  not  to  have  heard  him,  rose 
from  his  chair,  and  said  :  "  I  must  leave  you  now,  my  dear 
Prosper ;  on  Saturday  I  shall  see  these  ladies  at  the  ball, 
and  bring  you  news  of  them.  Now,  take  courage,  and  re- 
member that,  whatever  happens,  you  have  a  friend  in 
me." 

Raoul  shook  Prosper  by  the  hand  and  departed,  leaving 
the  latter  standing  immovable  and  overcome  by  disappoint- 
m'"-nt.     He  v\'as  aroused  from  his  gloomy  reverie  by  heaff- 


FILE  NO,  113.  97 

ing  the  red-whiskered  man  say  in  a  bantering  tone,  "  So 
this  is  one  of  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Prosper  with  bitterness.  "  Yet  you  heard 
him  offer  me  half  of  his  fortune  ? " 

M.  Verdure t  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of  com- 
passion. "  That  was  very  stingy  on  his  part,"  said  he  ; 
"  why  did  he  not  offer  the  whole  ?  Offers  cost  nothing  ; 
although  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  sweet  youth  would 
cheerfully  give  ten  thousand  francs  to  put  the  ocean  be- 
tween you  and  him." 

"  What  reason,  sir,  would  he  have  for  doing  this  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  for  the  same  reason  that  he 
told  you  he  had  not  set  foot  in  his  uncle's  house  for  a 
month." 

**  But  that  is  the  truth,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

**  Naturally,"  said  M.  Verduret  with  a  provoking  smile. 
"  But,"  continued  he  with  a  serious  air,  "  we  have  devoted 
enough  time  to  this  Adonis,  whose  measure  I  have  taken. 
Now,  be  good  enough  to  change  your  dress,  and  we  will 
go  and  call  on  M.  Fauvel." 

This  proposal  aroused  Prosper's  anger.  "  Never  !  "  he 
exclaimed  excitedly ;  "  no,  never  will  I  voluntarily  set 
eyes  on  that  wretch  !  " 

This  resistance  did  not  surprise  M.  Verduret.  "  I  cas 
understand  your  feelings  towards  him,"  said  he  ;  "  but  at 
the  same  time  I  hope  you  will  change  your  mind.  For 
the  same  reason  that  I  wished  to  see  M.  de  Lagors,  I  de- 
sire to  see  M.  Fauvel  ;  it  is  necessary,  you  understand. 
Are  you  so  very  weak  that  you  cannot  constrain  yourself 
for  five  minutes  ?  I  shall  introduce  myself  as  one  of  your 
relatives,  and  you  need  not  open  your  lips." 

"  If  it  is  positively  necessary,"  said  Prosper,  "  if — " 

"  It  is  necessary ;  so  come  on.  You  mus-t  have  confi- 
dence, and  put  on  a  brave  face.  Hurry  and  make  your- 
self trim  ;  it  is  getting  late,  and  I  am  hungry.  We  will 
lunch  on  our  way  there." 

Prosper  had  hardly  passed  into  his  bedroom  when  the 
bell  pang  again.  M.  Verduret  opened  the  door.  It  was 
the  concierge,  who  handed  him  a  bulky  letter,  and  said  : 
"  This  letter  was  left  this  morning  for  M.  Bertomy ;  I  was 
so  flustered  when  he  came  that  I  forgot  to  hand  it  to  him. 
It  is  a  very  odd-looking  letter  ;  is  it  not,  sir  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  a  most  peculiar  missive.  The  address 
7 


98  FILE  NO.  113. 

was  not  written,  but  formed  of  printed  letters,  carefully 
cut  from  a  book,  and  pasted  on  the  envelope. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  what  is  this  !  "  cried  M.  Verduret ;  then  turn* 
ing  towards  the  man  he  said:  "Wait  a  moment."  He 
went  into  the  next  room,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
There  he  found  Prosper,  anxious  to  know  what  was  going 
on.     "  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,"  observed  M.  Verduret. 

Prosper  at  once  tore  open  the  envelope.  Some  bank 
notes  dropped  .out;  he  counted  them;  there  were  ten. 
The  cashier  turned  very  red.  "  What  does  this  mean  1  " 
he  asked. 

"We  will  read  the  letter  and  find  out,"  replied  Verdu- 
ret. 

The  letter,  like  the  address,  was  composed  of  printed 
words  cut  out  and  pasted  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  It  was 
short  but  explicit :  — 

*'  My  dear  Prosper, — A  friend,  who  knows  the  horror  of 
your  situation,  sends  you  this  succor.  There  is  one  heart, 
be  assured,  that  shares  your  sufferings.  Go  away — leave 
France.  You  are  young ;  the  future  is  before  you.  Go, 
and  may  this  money  bring  you  happiness  !  " 

As  M.  Verduret  read  the  note,  Prosper's  rage  increased. 
He  was  angry  and  perplexed,  for  he  could  not  explain  the 
rapidly  succeeding  events  which  were  so  calculated  to 
mystify  his  already  confused  brain.  "Everybody  wishes 
me  to  go  away,"  he  cried ;  "there  is  evidently  a  conspir- 
acy against  me." 

M.  Verduret  smiled  with  satisfaction.  "  At  last  you  be- 
gin to  open  your  eyes,  you  begm  to  understand.  Yes, 
there  are  people  who  hate  you  because  of  the  wrong  they 
have  done  you  ;  there  are  people  to  whom  your  presence 
in  Paris  is  a  constant  danger,  and  who  will  not  feel  safe 
till  they  are  rid  of  you." 

"  But  who  are  these  people  ?  Tell  me,  who  dares  sencj 
this  money?" 

"  If  I  knew,  my  dear  Prosper,  my  task  would  be  at  an 
end,  for  then  I  should  know  who  committed  the  robbery. 
But  we  will  continue  our  researches.  I  have  finally  pro- 
cured evidence  which  will  sooner  or  later  become  convinc- 
ing proof.  I  have  heretofore  only  made  deductions  more 
or  less  probable  ;  I  now  possess  knowledge  which  proves 
that  I  was  not  mistaken.  I  walked  in  darkness  :  now  J 
have  a  light  to  guide  me." 


FILE  NO.  113.  9() 

As  Prosper  listened  to  M.  Verduret's  reassuring  words, 
he  felt  hope  rising  in  his  breast. 

'  "Now,"  said  M.  Verduret,  "we  must  take  advantage  of 
this  evidence,  gained  by  the  nnprudence  of  our  enemies, 
without  delay.      We  will  begin  with  the  concierge." 

He  opened  th^  door,  and  called  out ;  "  I  say,  my  good 
man,  step  here  a  moment." 

The  concierge  entered,  looking  very  much  surprised  at 
the  authority  exercised  over  his  lodger  by  this  stranger. 
"  Who  gave  you  this  letter  ?  "  asked  M.  Verduret. 
"  A  messenger,  who  said  he  was  paid  for  bringing  it." 
"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  him    well ;  he   is   the    commissionaire  whose 
post  is  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Pigalle." 
"Gd  and  bring  him  here." 

After  the  concierge  had  gone,  M.  Verduret  drew  his 
diary  from  his  pocket  and  compared  a  page  of  it  with  the 
notes  which  he  had  spread  over  the  table.  "  These  notes 
were  not  sent  by  the  thief,"  he  said,  after  an  attentive  ex- 
amination of  them. 
"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"lam  confident  of  it;  that  is,  unless  he  is  endowed 
with  extraordinary  penetration  and  forethought.  One 
thing  is  certain  :  these  ten  thousand  francs  are  not  part  of 
the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  which  were  stolen 
from  the  safe." 

"  Yet,"  said  Prosper,  w^ho  could  not  account  for  this 
certainty  on  the  part  of  his  protector,  "  yet — " 

"  There  is  no  yet  about  it :  I  have  the  numbers  of  all 
the  stolen  notes." 

"  What !  When  even  I  did  not  know  them  myself  ?  " 
"  But  the  Bank  did,  fortunately.  When  we  undertake 
an  affair  we  must  anticipate  everything,  and  forget  nothing. 
It  is  a  poor  excuse  for  a  man  to  say,  '  I  did  not  think  of 
it,'  when  he  commits  some  oversight.  I  thought  of  the 
Bank." 

If  in  the  beginning  Prosper  had  felt  some  repugnance 
about  confiding  in  his  father's  friend,  the  feeling  had  now 
disappeared.  He  understood  that  alone,  scarcely  master 
of  himself,  governed  only  by  the  inspirations  of  inexperi- 
ence he  would  never  have  had  the  patient  perspicacity  of 
this  singular  man. 
^    Verduret  continued,  talking  to  himself,  as  if  he  had 


100  FILE  NO.  113. 

absolutely  forgotten  Prosper's  presence  ;  "  Then,  as  this 
missive  did  not  come  from  the  thief,  it  can  only  come  from 
the  other  person,  who  was  near  the  safe  at  the  time  of  the 
robbery,  but  could  not  prevent  it,  and  now  feels  remorse 
The  probability  of  two  persons  assisting  at  the  robbery,  ^ 
probability  suggested  by  the  scratch,  is  now  converted  into 
a  certainty.     -E^'go,  I  was  right." 

Prosper  listening  attentively  tried  hard  to  comprehend 
this  monologue,  which  he  dared  not  interrupt. 

"  Let  us  seek,"  the  stout  man  went  on  to  say,  "  this  sec- 
ond person,  whose  conscience  pricks  him,  and  yet  who 
dares  not  reveal  anything."  Here  he  read  the  letter  over 
several  times,  scanning  the  sentences,  and  weighing  every 
word.  "  Evidently  this  letter  was  composed  by  a  woman," 
he  finally  said.  "  Never  would  a  man  doing  another  man 
a  service,  and  sending  him  money,  use  the  word  '  succor.' 
A  man  would  have  said,  loan,  money,  or  some  other  equiv- 
alent, but  succor,  never.  No  one  but  a  woman,  ignorant 
of  masculine  susceptibilities,  would  have  naturally  made 
use  of  this  word  to  express  the  idea  it  represents.  As  to 
the  sentence,  '  There  is  one  heart '  and  so  on,  it  could 
only  have  been  written  by  a  woman." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  I  think,"  said  Prosper ;  "  no 
woman  is  mixed  up  in  this  affair." 

M.  Verduret  paid  no  attention  to  this  interruption  ;  per- 
haps he  did  not  hear  it,  perhaps  he  did  not  care  to  argue 
the  matter.  "  Now,  let  us  see  if  we  can  discover  whence 
the  printed  words  were  taken  to  compose  this  letter." 

Pie  went  to  the  window,  and  began  to  study  the  pasted 
words  with  all  the  scrupulous  attention  which  an  anti- 
quary would  devote  to  an  old,  half-effaced  manuscript. 
"  Small  type,"  he  said,  "very  slender  and  clear;  the  paper 
is  thin  and  glossy.  Consequently,  these  words  have  not 
been  cut  from  a  newspaper,  magazine,  or  even  a  novel.  Yet 
I  have  seen  type  like  this — I  recognize  it,  I  am  sure  Didot 
often  uses  it,  so  does  Mame  of  Tours." 

He  suddenly  stopped,  his  mouth  open,  and  his  eyes 
fixed,  appealing  as  though  anxiously  to  his  memory.  Sud- 
denly he  struck  his  forehead  exultingly.  "Now  I  have 
it !  "  he  cried  ;  "  now  I  have  it !  Why  did  I  not  see  it  at 
once  ?  These  words  have  all  been  cut  from  a  prayer-book. 
We  will  look,  at  least,  and  then  we  shall  be  certain." 

He  moistened  one  of  the  words  pasted  on  the  paper 


FILE  NO.  113.  101 

with  his  tongue,  and  when  it  was  sufficiently  softened,  he 
detached  it  with  a  pin.  On  the  other  side  of  this  word 
was  the  Latin  word,  Dens. 

"Ah,  ah  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  l:>t>lfi'lau5^h,of  satisfac 
tion,  "  I  knew  it.  Old  Tabaret*  would  be,  pleased  ,to  see 
this.  But  what  has  become  of  the  ir.ulilatf^d  pray^jrbock ' 
Can  it  have  been  burned  ?  No,  because '  a  heavy-bound 
book  is  not  easily  burned.  It  has  been  thrown  aside  in 
some  corner." 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  the  concierge,  who  returned 
with  the  commissionaire  from  the  Rue  Pigalle. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are,"  said  M.  Verduret,  encouragingly 
Then  he  showed  him  the  envelope  of  the  letter,  and  asked 
*'  Do  you  remember  bringing  this  letter  here  this  morning  ? ' 

"  Perfectly,  sir,  I  took  particular  notice  of  the  direc 
tion  ;  we  don't  often  see  anything  like  it." 

"  Who  told  you  to  bring  it  ? — a  gentleman,  or  a  lady  ?  " 

"Neither,  sir;  it  was  a  commissionaire." 

This  reply  made  the  concierge  laugh  very  much,  bu. 
not  a  muscle  of  M.  Verduret's  face  moved. 

"  A  commissionaire  ?  Well,  do  you  know  this  colleague 
of  yours  ? " 

"  I  never  saw  him  before." 

"What  was  he  like?" 

"  He  was  neither  tall  nor  short ;  he  wore  a  green  velvd 
jacket,  and  his  badge." 

"  Your  description  is  so  vague  that  it  would  suit  every 
commissionaire  in  the  city ;  but  did  your  colleague  tell 
you  who  sent  the  letter  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  He  simply  put  ten  sous  in  my  hand,  and 
said  :  '  Here,  carry  this  to  No.  39  Rue  Chaptal ;  a  cab- 
man on  the  boulevard  handed  it  to  me.'  Ten  sous!  I 
warrant  you  he  made  more  than  that  by  it." 

This  answer  seemed  to  disconcert  M.  Verduret.  The 
taking  of  so  many  precautions  to  send  this  letter  disturbed 
him  and  upset  all  his  plans. 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  recognize  the  commission- 
aire again  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,  if  I  saw  him." 

"  How  much  do  you  gain  a  day  as  a  commissionaire  ?  " 

"  I  can't  exactly  tell ;  but  mine  is  a  good  corner,  and  I 
am  busy  going  errands  nearly  all  day,  I  suppose  I 
make  froni  eight  to  ten  francs." 


102  FILE  NO,  113. 

"  Very  well  :  I  will  give  you  ten  francs  a  day  if  yon 
will  walk  about  the  streets,  and  look  for  the  commission 
aire- who  gave  you  this'  letter.  Every  evening,  at  eight 
o'clock,'  come-  to' Ihe^Grand  Archangel,  on  the  Quai 
Saint  Michel,  to  give  me  *a  report  of  your  search  and  re- 
'cei'vb'yojif  pay.  '  "As"k  'for  M.  Verduret.  If  you  find  the 
man  I  will  give  you  fifty  francs.     Do  you  agree  ?  " 

"  I  should  rather  think  I  do." 

"  Then  don't  lose  a  minute.     Start  off !  " 

Although  ignorant  of  M.  Verduret's  plans.  Prosper  be- 
gan to  comprehend  the  sense  of  his  investigations.  His 
fate  depended  upon  their  success,  and  yet  he  almost  for- 
got  this  fact  in  his  admiration  of  this  singular  man  ;  for 
his  energy,  his  bantering  coolness  when  he  wished  to  dis- 
cover anything,  the  certainty  of  his  deductions,  the  fer- 
tility of  his  expedients,  and  the  rapidity  of  his  movements, 
were  astonishing. 

"  Do  you  still  think,  sir,"  said  Prosper  when  the  man  had 
left  the  room,  "  you  see  a  woman's  hand  in  this  affair  ?  " 

"  More  than  ever  ;  and  a  pious  woman  too,  who  has  at 
least  two  prayer-books,  since  she  could  cut  up  one  to  write 
to  you." 

"  And  you  hope  to  find  the  mutilated  book  ?  " 

"  I  <io,  thanks  to  the  opportunity  I  have  of  making  an 
immediate  search  ;  which  I  will  set  about  at  once." 

Saying  this,  he  sat  down,  and  rapidly  scratched  off  a 
few  lines  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  folded  up,  and  put 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "  Are  you  ready  to  go  to  M. 
Fauvel's  ?  "  he  then  asked.  "  Yes  ?  Come  on,  then  ;  we 
have  certainly  earned  our  lunch  to-day." 


VIII. 

When  Raoul  de  Lagors  spoke  of  M.  Fauvel's  extraor- 
dinary dejection,  he  had  been  guilty  of  no  exaggeration. 
Since  the  fatal  day  when,  upon  his  denunciation,  his  cash- 
ier had  been  arrested,  the  banker,  this  active,  energetic 
man  of  business,  had  been  a  prey  to  the  most  gloomy  mel- 
ancholy, and  ceased  to  take  any  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
his  banking-house. 

He,  who  had  always  been  so  devoted  to  his  family, 
never  came  near  them  except  at  meals,  when  as  soon  as 


FILE  NO.  113.  103 

he  had  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls,  he  would  hastily  leave 
the  room.  Shut  up  in  his  study,  he  would  deny  himself  to 
visitors.  His  anxious  countenance,  his  indifference  to 
everybody  and  everything,  his  constant  reveries  and  fits 
of  abstraction,  betrayed  the  presence  of  some  fixed  idea 
or  of  some  hidden  sorrow. 

The  day  of  Prosper's  release,  about  three  o'clock,  M. 
Fauvel  was,  as  usual,  seated  in  his  study,  with  his  elbows 
resting  on  the  table,  and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
when  his  valet  abruptly  entered,  and  with  a  frightened 
look  said  : 

*•  M.  Bertomy,  the  former  cashier,  is  here  sir,  with  one 
of  his  relatives ;  he  says  he  must  see  you." 

At  these  words  the  banker  jumped  up  as  if  he  had  been 
shot  at.  "  Prosper  !  "  he  cried  in  a  voice  choked  by  an- 
ger, "  what !  does  he  dare — "  Then  remembering  that  he 
ought  to  control  himself  before  his  servant,  he  waited  a 
few  moments,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  forced  calmness : 
"Ask  the  gentlemen  to  walk  in." 

If  M.  Verduret  had  counted  upon  witnessing  a  strange 
and  affecting  scene,  he  was  not  disappointed.  Nothing 
could  be  more  terrible  than  the  attitude  of  these  two  men 
as  they  stood  confronting  each  other.  The  banker's  face 
was  almost  purple  with  suppressed  anger,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  were  about  to  be  seized  with  a  fit  of  apoplexy. 
Prosper  was  pale  and  motionless  as  a  corpse.  Silent  and 
immovable,  they  stood  glaring  at  each  other  with  mortal 
hatred. 

M.  Verduret  watched  these  two  enemies  with  the  indiffer- 
ence and  coolness  of  a  philosopher,  who,  in  the  most  violent 
outbursts  of  human  passion,  merely  see  subjects  for  medita- 
tion and  study.  Finally,  the  silence  becoming  more  and 
more  threatening,  he  decided  to  break  it  by  speaking  to  the 
banker : 

"  I  suppose  you  know,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  my  young 
relative  has  just  been  released  from  prison." 

"  Yes,"  replied  M.  Fauvel  making  an  effort  to  control 
himself,  "  yes,  for  want  of  sufficient  proof." 

"  Exactly  so,  sir  ;  and  this  want  of  proof,  as  stated  in 
the  decision  of  '  Not  proven,'  ruins  the  prospects  of  my 
relative,  and  compels  him  to  leave  here  at  once  for 
America." 

On  hearing  this    statement,   M.   Fauvel's  features  re 


104  PILE  NO.  113. 

laxed  as  if  he  had  been  relieved  of  some  fearful  agony. 
"  Ah,  he  is  going  away,"  he  kept  repeating,  "  he  is  going 
abroad."  There  was  no  mistaking  the  insulting  intonation 
of  the  words,  "  going  away  !  " 

M.  Verduret  took  no  notice  of  M.  Fauvel's  manner. 
"  It  appears  to  me,"  he  continued  in  an  easy  tone, 
"  that  Prosper's  determination  is  a  wise  one.  I  merely 
wished  him,  before  leaving  Paris,  to  come  and  pay  his  re 
spects  to  his  former  chief." 

The  banker  smiled  bitterly.  "  M.  Bertomy  might  hav^ 
spared  us  both  this  painful  meeting.  I  have  nothing  to 
say  to  him,  and  of  course  he  can  have  nothing  to  tell 
me." 

This  was  a  formal  dismissal ;  and  M.  Verduret,  under- 
standing it  thus,  bowed  to  M.  Fauvel  and  left  the  room, 
accompanied  by  Prosper,  who  had  not  opened  his  lips. 

They  had  reached  the  street  before  Prosper  recovered 
the  use  of  his  tongue.  "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,  sir,"  said 
he  in  a  gloomy  tone.  "  You  exacted  this  painful  step,  and 
I  could  but  acquiesce.  Have  I  gained  anything  by  add- 
ing this  humiliation  to  the  others  which  I  have  had  to 
suffer  ?  " 

"  You  have  not,  but  I  have,"  replied  M.  Verduret.  "  I 
could  find  no  way  of  gaining  access  to  M.  Fauvel,  save 
through  you ;  and  now  I  have  found  out  what  I  wanted 
to  know.  I  am  convinced  that  M.  Fauvel  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  robbery." 

**But  you  know,  sir,  innocence  can  be  feigned,"  objected 
Prosper. 

"  Certainly,  but  not  to  this  extent.  And  this  is  not  all. 
I  wished  to  find  out  if  M.  Fauvel  would  be  accessible  to 
certain  suspicions.     I  can  now  confidently  reply,  *  yes.'  " 

Prosper  and  his  companion  had  stopped  to  talk  more 
at  their  ease,  near  the  corner  of  Rue  Lafitte,  in  the  middle 
of  a  large  space  which  had  lately  been  cleared  by  pulling 
down  an  old  house.  M.  Verduret  seemed  to  be  anxious, 
and  was  constantly  looking  around  as  if  he  expected  some 
one.  He  soon  uttered  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  vacant  space  he  saw  Cavaillon,  who 
was  bareheaded  and  running. 

The  latter  was  so  excited  that  he  did  not  even  stop  to 
shake  hands  with  Prosper,  but  darted  up  to  M.  Verduret, 
and  said  :  "  They  have  gone,  sir ! ''' 


FILE  NO.  113.  105 

"  How  long  since  ?  " 

"  They  went  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago." 

"  The  deuce  they  did  !  Then  we  have  not  an  instant  to 
lose." 

He  handed  Cavaillon  the  note  he  had  written  some 
hours  before  at  Prosper's  house. 

"  Here,  pass  this  on,  and  then  return  at  once  to  your 
desk  ;  you  might  be  missed.  It  was  very  imprudent  of 
you  to  come  out  without  your  hat." 

Cavaillon  ran  off  as  quickly  as  he  had  come.  Prosper 
was  astounded.  "  What !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  know 
Cavaillon  ? " 

"  So  it  seems,"  answered  M.  Verduret  with  a  smile. 
"  But  we  have  no  time  to  talk  ;  come  on,  we  must  hurry  I " 

"  Where  are  we  going  now  ?  " 

"  You  will  soon  know  ;  let  us  walk  fast !  "  And  he  set 
the  example  by  striding  rapidly  towards  the  Rue  Lafay- 
ette. As  they  went  along  he  continued  talking  more  to 
himself  than  to  Prosper. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  by  putting  both  feet  in  one 
shoe  that  one  wins  a  race.  The  trace  once  found,  we 
should  never  rest  an  instant  When  the  savage  discovers 
the  footprints  of  an  enemy,  he  follows  it  persistently,  know- 
ing that  falling  rain  or  a  gust  of  wind  may  efface  the  foot- 
prints at  any  moment.  It  is  the  same  with  us  ;  the  most 
trifling  incident  may  destroy  the  traces  we  are  following  up." 

M.  Verduret  suddenly  stopped  before  a  door  bearing 
the  number  81.  "We  are  going  in  here,"  he  said  to  Pros- 
per; "  come  along." 

They  went  up  stairs,  and  stopped  on  the  second  floor 
before  a  door  over  which  was  inscribed,  "  Modes  and  Con- 
fections." A  handsome  bell  rope  was  hanging  against  the 
wall,  but  M.  Verduret  did  not  touch  it.  He  tapped  with 
the  ends  of  his  fingers  in  a  peculiar  way,  and  the  door 
instantly  opened,  as  if  some  one  had  been  watching  for  his 
signal  on  the  other  side. 

A  neatly  dressed  woman  of  about  forty  received  Verdu- 
ret and  Prosper,  and  quietly  ushered  them  into  a  small 
dining-room  with  several  doors  opening  into  it.  This 
woman  bowed  respectfully  to  M.  Verduret,  as  if  he  were 
some  superior  being.  He  scarcely  noticed  her  salutation, 
but  questioned  her  with  a  look,  which  asked  :     "  Well  ?  " 

She  nodded  affirmatively  :     "  Yes." 


io6  FILE  NO.  113, 

"  In  there  ?  **  asked  M.  Verduret  in  a  low  tone,  point 

ing  to  one  of  the  doors. 

"  No,"  replied  the  woman  in  the  same  tone  ;  "  there,  in 
the  Httle  parlor." 

M.  Verduret  opened  the  door  of  the  room  indicated, 
and  pushed  Prosper  forward,  whispering  as  he  did  so, 
"  Go  in,  and  keep  your  presence  of  mind." 

But  this  injunction  was  useless.  The  instant  he  cast 
his  eyes  round  the  room  into  which  he  had  so  unceremo- 
niously been  pushed  without  any  warning,  Prosper  ex- 
claimed in  a  startled  voice  :  "  Madeleine  !  " 

It  was  indeed  Mo  Fauvel's  niece,  looking  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever.  Hers  was  that  calm,  dignified  beauty  which 
imposes  admiration  and  respect.  Standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  near  a  table  covered  with  silks  and  satins, 
she  was  arranging  a  skirt  of  red  velvet  embroidered  in 
gold  ;  probably  the  dress  she  was  to  wear  as  maid  of  honor 
to  Catherine  de  Medicis.  At  sight  of  Prosper,  all  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  face,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  half 
closed,  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint ;  she  clung  to  the  ta- 
ble to  prevent  herself  from  falling. 

Prosper  well  knew  that  Madeleine  was  not  one  of  those 
cold-hearted  women  whom  nothing  could  disturb,  and  who 
feel  sensations,  but  never  a  true  sentiment.  Of  a  tender, 
dreamy  nature,  she  betrayed  in  the  minute  details  of  her 
life  the  most  exquisite  delicacy.  But  she  was  also  proud, 
and  incapable  in  any  way  of  violating  her  conscience. 
When  duty  spoke,  she  obeyed. 

She  recovered  from  her  momentary  weakness,  and  the 
soft  expression  of  her  eyes  changed  to  one  of  haughty 
resentment.  In  an  offended  tones  he  said  •  "  What  has 
emboldened  you,  sir,  to  be  watching  my  movements  ? " 
Who  gave  you  permission  to  follow  me — to  enter  this 
house  ? "   , 

Prosper  was  certainly  innocent.  He  longed  with  a  word 
to  explain  what  had  just  happened,  but  he  was  powerless 
to  do  so,  and  could  only  remain  silent. 

"  You  promised  me  upon  your  honor,  sir,"  continued 
Madeleine,  "  that  you  would  never  again  seek  my  pres* 
ence.     Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your  word  ?  " 

"  I  did  promise,  mademoiselle,  but—"     He  stopped. 

"  Oh,  speak  !  " 

"So  many  things  have  happened  since  that  terrible  day 


"•i  \vi:sli  to  Icil  voii  that   1  have  foru-ottcii  not hiiiu'.'"' 


FILE  NO.  113.  107 

that  I  think  I  am  excusable  in  forgetting  for  one  hour  an 
oath  torn  from  me  in  a  moment  of  blind  weakness.  It  is 
to  chance,  at  least  to  another  will  than  my  own,  that  I  am 
indebted  for  the  happiness  of  once  more  finding  myself 
near  you.  Alas  !  the  instant  I  saw  you  my  heart  bounded 
with  joy.  I  did  not  think — no,  I  could  not  think — that 
you  would  prove  more  pitiless  than  strangers  have  been, 
that  you  would  cast  me  off  when  I  am  so  miserable  and 
heartbroken." 

Had  not  Prosper  been  so  agitated  he  could  have  read 
in  Madeleine's  eyes — those  beautiful  eyes  which  had  so 
long  been  the  arbiters  of  his  destiny — the  signs  of  a  great 
inward  struggle. 

It  was,  however,  in  a  firm  voice  that  she  replied  :  "  You 
know  me  well  enough,  Prosper,  to  be  sure  that  no  blow 
can  strike  you  without  reaching  me  at  the  same  time.  You 
suffer,  I  suffer  with  you  :  I  pity  you  as  a  sister  would  pity 
a  beloved  brother." 

"  A  sister  !  "  said  Prosper  bitterly.  "  Yes,  that  was  the 
word  you  used  the  day  you  banished  me  from  your  pres- 
ence. A  sister !  Then  why  during  three  years  did  you 
delude  me  with  vain  hopes  ?  Was  I  a  brother  to  you  the 
day  we  went  to  Notre  Dame  de  Fourvieres — that  day  when, 
at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  we  swore  to  love  each  other  for- 
ever and  ever,  and  you  fastened  around  my  neck  a  holy 
relic  and  said,  '  Wear  this  always  for  my  sake ;  never  part 
from  it,  and  it  will  bring  you  good  fortune  ? '  " 

Madeleine  attempted  to  interrupt  him  by  a  supplicating 
gesture ;  but  he  did  not  heed  it,  and  continued  with  in- 
creased bitterness — "  One  month  after  that  happy  day — a 
year  ago — you  gave  me  back  my  promise,  told  me  to  con- 
sider myself  free  from  any  engagement,  and  never  to  come 
near  you  again.  If  I  could  have  discovered  in  what  way 
I  had  offended  you — but  no,  you  refused  to  explain.  You 
drove  me  away,  and  to  obey  you  I  let  every  one  suppose 
that  I  had  left  you  of  my  own  accord.  You  told  me  that 
an  invincible  obstacle  had  arisen  between  us,  and  I  be- 
lieved you,  fool  that  I  was  1  The  obstacle  was  your  own 
heart,  Madeleine.  I  have  always  worn  the  relic ;  but  it 
has  not  brought  me  happiness  or  good  fortune." 

Pale  and  motionless  as  a  statue,  Madeleine  listened  with 
bowed  head  and  weeping  eyes  to  these  passionate  re- 
Droaches. 


io8  FILE  NO.  113. 

*'  I  told  you  to  forget  me,"  she  murmured. 

"  Forget !  "  exclaimed  Prosper  excitedly,  "  forget !  Can 
I  forget  ?  Is  it  in  my  power  to  stop,  by  an  effort  of  will, 
the  circulation  of  my  blood  ?  Ah  !  you  have  never  loved  ! 
To  forget,  as  to  stop  the  beatings  of  the  heart,  there  is  but 
one  means — death  !  " 

This  word,  uttered  with  the  fixed  determination  of  a 
desperate,  reckless  man,  caused  Madeleine  to  shud- 
der. 

"  Miserable  man  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  miserable  man,  and  a  thousand  times  more 
miserable  than  you  can  imagine  !  You  can  never  under- 
stand the  tortures  I  have  suffered,  when  for  a  year  past  I 
have  awoke  every  morning,  and  said  to  myself,  '  It  is  all 
over,  she  has  ceased  to  love  me  ! '  This  great  sorrow 
stares  me  in  the  face  day  and  night  in  spite  of  all  my 
efforts  to  dispel  it.  And  you  speak  of  forgetting !  I 
sought  it  in  poisoned  cups,  but  found  it  not.  I  tried  to 
extinguish  this  memory  of  the  past,  which  burns  within 
me  like  a  devouring  flame,  but  in  vain.  When  my  body 
succumbed,  my  pitiless  thoughts  still  survived.  Do  you 
wonder  then,  that  I  should  seek  that  rest  which  can  only 
be  obtained  by  suicide  ?  " 

"  I  forbid  you  to  utter  that  word." 

"  You  forget,  Madeleine,  that  you  have  no  right  to  for- 
bid me  now  you  love  me  no  more." 

With  an  imperious  gesture,  Madeleine  interrupted  him 
as  if  she  wished  to  speak,  and  perhaps  to  explain  all,  to 
exculpate  herself.  But  a  sudden  thought  arrested  her; 
she  clasped  her  hands  despairingly,  and  cried  :  "  My  God  1 
this  suffering  is  beyond  endurance  ! " 

Prosper  seemed  to  misconstrue  her  words.  "Your  pity 
comes  too  late,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  happiness  in  store 
for  one  like  myself,  who  has  had  a  glimpse  of  divine  felic- 
ity, has  had  the  cup  of  bliss  held  to  his  lips,  and  then 
dashed  to  the  ground.  There  is  nothing  left  to  attach  me 
to  life.  You  have  destroyed  my  holiest  belief.  I  come 
forth  from  prison  disgraced  by  my  enemies  ;  what  is  to 
become  of  me  ?  Vainly  do  I  question  the  future  ;  for  me 
there  is  no  hope  of  happiness.  I  look  around  me  to  see 
nothing  but  abandonment,  ignominy,  and  despair !  " 

"  Prosper,  my  brother,  my  friend,  if  you  only  knew — " 

**  I  know  but  one  thing,  Madeleine,  which  is,  ^at  yoi« 


FILE  NO.  113.  105 

no  longer  love  me,  and  that  I  love  you  more  madly  than 
ever.     O  Madeleine,  God  only  knows  how  I  love  you  ! " 

He  was  silent.  He  hoped  for  an  answer.  None  came. 
But  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  stifled  sob.  It 
was  Madeleine's  maid,  who,  seated  in  a  corner,  was  weep- 
ing bitterly.     Madeleine  had  forgotten  her  presence. 

Prosper  on  entering  the  room  was  so  amazed  on  finding 
himself  in  the  presence  of  Madeleine,  that  he  noticed 
nothing  else.  With  a  feeling  of  surprise,  he  turned  and 
looked  at  the  weeping  woman.  He  was  not  mistaken  ; 
this  neatly  dressed  waiting-maid  was  Nina  Gipsy. 

Prosper  was  so  startled  that  he  became  perfectly  dumb. 
He  stood  there  with  ashy  lips,  and  a  chilly  sensation 
creeping  through  his  veins.  He  was  terrified  at  the  posi- 
tion in  which  he  found  himself.  He  was  there,  between 
the  two  women  who  had  ruled  his  fate ;  between  Made- 
leine, the  proud  heiress  who  spurned  his  love,  and  Nina 
Gipsy,  the  poor  girl  whose  devotion  to  him  he  had  sc 
disdainfully  rejected.  And  she  had  heard  all  !  Pooi 
Nina  had  heard  the  passionate  avowal  of  her  lover,  had 
heard  him  swear  that  he  could  never  love  any  woman  bui 
Madeleine,  that  if  his  love  were  not  reciprocated  he  would 
kill  himself,  as  he  had  nothing  else  to  live  for. 

Prosper  could  judge  of  her  sufferings  by  his  own.  For 
she  was  wounded  not  only  in  the  present,  but  in  the  past 
What  must  be  her  humiliation  and  anger  on  hearing  the 
miserable  part  which  he,  in  his  disappointed  love,  had 
imposed  upon  her?  He  was  astonished  that  Nina — vio- 
lence itself — remained  silently  weeping,  instead  of  rising 
and  bitterly  denouncing  him.  , 

Meanwhile  Madeleine  had  succeeded  in  recovering  her 
usual  calmness.  Slowly  and  almost  unconsciously  she 
had  put  on  her  bonnet  and  mantle,  which  were  lying  on 
the  sofa.  Then  she  approached  Prosper,  and  said  :  "  Why 
did  you  come  here  .''  We  both  have  need  of  all  the  courage 
we  can  command.  You  are  unhappy.  Prosper  :  I  am  more 
than  unhappy,  I  am  most  wretched.  You  have  a  right  to 
complain  :  I  have  not  the  right  to  shed  a  tear.  While  my 
heart  is  slowly  breaking,  I  must  wear  a  smiling  face. 
You  can  seek  consolation  in  the  bosom  of  a  friend  :  I  can 
have  no  confidante  but  God." 

Prosper  tried  to  murmur  a  reply,  but  his  pale  lips 
refused    to    articulate ;  he   was  stifling.     "  I  wish  to   telj 


no  FILE  NO.  113. 

you,"  continued  Madeleine,  "  that  I  have  forgotten  nothing. 
But  oh  !  let  not  this  knowledge  give  you  any  hope  :  the 
future  is  blank  for  us  ;  but  if  you  love  me  you  will  live. 
You  will  not,  I  know,  add  to  my  already  heavy  burden  of 
sorrow  the  agony  of  mourning  your  death.  For  mv  sake, 
live  ;  live  the  life  of  a  good  man,  and  perhaps  the  day  will 
come  when  1  can  justify  myself  in  your  eyes.  And  now,  O 
my  brother,  O  my  only  friend,  adieu  !  adieu  !  "  She  pressed 
a  kiss  upon  his  brow,  and  rushed  from  the  room,  followed 
by  Nina  Gipsy ! 

Prosper  was  alone.  He  seemed  to  be  awaking  from  a 
troubled  dream.  He  tried  to  think  over  what  had  just 
happened,  and  asked  himself  if  he  were  losing  his  mind, 
01  *vhether  he  had  really  spoken  to  Madeleine  and  seen 
Nz-na  }  He  was  obliged  to  attribute  all  this  to  the  myste- 
riDus  power  of  the  strange  man  whom  he  had  seen  for  the 
frst  time  that  very  morning.  How  did  this  individual 
gain  this  wonderful  power  of  controlling  events  to  suit  nis 
own  purposes  .-*  He  seemed  to  anticipate  everything,  to 
know  everything.  He  was  acquainted  with  Cavaillon,  he 
knew  all  Madeleine's  movements  ;  he  had  made  even  Nina 
become  humble  and  submissive. 

While  thinking  over  this.  Prosper  had  reached  such  a 
degree  of  exasperation,  that  when  M.  Verduret  entered 
the  little  parlor,  he  strode  towards  him  white  with  rage, 
and  in  a  threatening  voice,  exclaimed  : 

"  Who  are  you  t " 

The  stout  man  did  not  manifest  any  surprise  at  this 
burst  of  anger,  but  quietly  answered  :  "  A  friend  of  your 
father's  ;  did  you  not  know  it  ?  " 

"  That,  sir,  is  no  answer ;  I  have  been  surprised  into 
being  influenced  by  a  stranger,  but  now — " 

"  Do  you  want  my  biography — what  I  have  been,  what 
I  am,  and  what  I  may  be  ?  What  difference  does  it  make 
to  you  ?  I  told  you  that  I  would  save  you  ;  the  main  point 
is  that  I  am  saving  you." 

"  Still  I  have  the  right  to  ask  by  what  means  you  are 
saving  me." 

"  What  good  will  it  do  you  to  know  what  my  plans  are  ?  " 

"  In  order  to  decide  whether  I  will  accept  or  reject 
them." 

**  But  suppose  I  guarantee  success  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  sufficient,     I  do  not  choose  to  be  anji 


FILE  AG.  113.  ni 

longer  deprived  of  my  own  free  will — to  be  exposed,  with- 
out w^arning,  to  trials  like  those  I  have  undergone  to-day. 
A  man  of  my  age  must  know  what  he  is  doing." 

"  A  man  of  your  age,  Prosper,  when  he  is  blind,  takes 
a  guide,  and  does  not  undertake  to  point  out  the  way  to 
his  leader." 

The  half-bantering,  half-commiserating  tone  of  M.  Ver- 
duret  was  not  calculated  to  calm  Prosper's  irritation. 

"  That  being  the  case,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  will  thank 
you  for  your  past  services,  and  decline  them  for  the  fu- 
ture, as  I  have  no  need  of  them.  If  I  attempted  to  de- 
fend my  honor  and  my  life,  it  was  because  I  hoped  that 
Madeleine  would  be  restored  to  me.  I  have  been  con- 
vinced to-day  that  all  is  at  an  end  between  us ;  I  retire 
from  the  struggle,  and  care  not  what  becomes  of  me 
now." 

Prosper  was  so  decided,  that  M.  Verduret  seemed 
alarmed.     "  You  must  be  mad,"  he  firmly  said. 

"  No,  unfortunately  I  am  not.  Madeleine  has  ceased  to 
love  me,  and  of  what  importance  is  anything  else  "i " 

His  heartbroken  tone  aroused  M.  Verduret's  sympathy, 
and  he  said  in  a  kind,  soothing  voice — "Then  you  sus- 
pect nothing .?  You  did  not  fathom  the  meaning  of  what 
she  said  ? " 

"  You  were  listening  ? "  cried  Prosper  fiercely. 

"  I  certainly  was." 

"  Sir ! " 

"Yes.  It  was  a  presumptuous  thing  to  do,  perhaps^ 
but  the  end  justified  the  means  in  this  instance.  I  am 
glad  I  did  listen,  because  it  enables  me  to  say  to  you : 
Take  courage.  Prosper ;  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  loves 
you — she  has  never  ceased  to  love  you." 

Like  a  dying  man  who  eagerly  listens  to  deceitful 
promises  of  recovery,  although  he  feels  himself  sinking 
into  the  grave,  Prosper  felt  his  sad  heart  cheered  by  M. 
Verduret's  assertion.  ""Oh,"  he  murmured,  suddenly 
calmed,  "if  I  only  could  hope  !  " 

"  Rely  upon  me,  I  am  not  mistaken.  Ah,  I  could  see 
the  torture  endured  by  this  generous  girl,  while  she  strug- 
gled between  her  love  and  what  she  believed  to  be  her 
duty.  Were  you  not  convinced  of  her  love  when  she 
bade  you  farewell  ? " 

**  She  loves  me,  she  is  free,  and  yet  she  shuns  me." 


112  PILE  NO.  113. 

"  No,  she  is  not  free  !  In  breaking  off  her  engagement 
with  you,  she  was  governed  by  some  powerful,  irrepressi* 
ble  event.  She  is  sacrificing  herself — for  whom  ?  We 
shall  soon  know  ;  and  the  secret  of  her  self-sacrifice  will 
reveal  to  us  the  secret  of  the  plot  against  you." 

As  M.  Verduret  spoke,  Prosper  felt  his  resolutions  of 
revolt  slowly  melting  away,  and  their  place  occupied  by 
confidence  and  hope.  "  If  what  you  say  were  only  true  !  '^ 
he  mournfully  said. 

"  Foolish  young  man  !  Why  do  you  persist  in  obsti- 
nately shutting  your  eyes  to  the  proof  I  place  before  you  ? 
Can  you  not  see  that  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  knows  who 
the  thief  is  ?  Yes,  you  need  not  look  so  shocked ;  she 
knows  the  thief,  but  no  human  power  can  tear  it  from 
^er.  She  sacrifices  you,  but  then  she  almost  has  the 
ight,  since  she  first  sacrificed  herself." 

Prosper  was  almost  convinced  ;  and  it  nearly  broke  his 
heart  to  leave  the  little  apartment  where  he  had  seen 
Madeleine.  "  Alas  ! "  he  said,  pressing  M.  Verduret's 
hand,  "  you  must  think  me  a  ridiculous  fool  i  but  you 
don't  know  how  I  suffer." 

The  man  with  the  red  whiskers  sadly  shook  his  head, 
and  his  voice  sounded  very  unsteady,  as  he  replied  in  a 
low  tone  :  "  What  you  suffer,  I  have  suffered.  Like  you, 
I  loved,  not  a  pure,  noble  girl,  yet  a  girl  fair  to  look  upon. 
For  three  years  I  was  at  her  feet,  a  slave  to  her  every 
whim,  when,  one  day,  she  suddenly  deserted  me  who 
adored  her,  to  throw  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  man  who 
despised  her.  Then,  like  you,  I  wished  to  die.  Neither 
threats  nor  entreaties  could  induce  her  to  return  to  me. 
Passion  never  reasons,  and  she  loved  my  rival." 

"  And  did  you  know  who  this  rival  was  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  knew." 

"  And  you  did  not  seek  revenge  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  M.  Verduret.  And  with  a  singular  ex- 
pression he  added :  "  For  fate  charged  itself  with  my 
vengeance." 

For  a  minute  Prosper  was  silent ;  then  he  said :  "  I 
have  finally  decided.  My  honor  is  a  sacred  trust  for 
which  I  must  account  to  my  family.  I  am  ready  to  follow 
you  to  the  end  of  the  world ;  dispose  of  me  as  you  judge 
proper." 

That  same  day  Prosper,  faithful  to  his  promise,  sold 


FILE  KO.  113.  1J3 

his  furniture,  and  wrote  to  his  friends  announcing  his  in- 
tended departure  for  San  Francisco.  In  the  evening  he 
and  M.  Verduret  installed  themselves  at  the  hotel  of  the 
Grand  Archangel. 

Madame  Alexandre  gave  Prosper  her  prettiest  room, 
but  it  was  very  ugly  compared  with  the  coquettish  little 
drawing-room  in  the  Rue  Chaptal.  His  state  of  mind  did 
not  permit  him,  however,  to  notice  the  difference  between 
his  former  and  present  quarters.  He  lay  on  an  old  sofa, 
meditating  upon  the  events  of  the  day.  and  feeling  a  bit- 
ter satisfaction  in  his  isolated  condition.  About  eleven 
o'clock  he  thought  he  would  open  the  window,  and  let 
the  cool  air  fan  his  burning  brow ;  as  he  did  so,  a  piece 
of  paper  was  blown  from  among  the  folds  of  the  window* 
curtain  and  lay  at  his  feet  on  the  floor. 

Prosper  mechanically  picked  it  up,  and  looked  at  it. 
It  was  covered  with  writing,  the  handwriting  of  Nina 
Gipsy ;  he  could  not  be  mistaken  about  that  It  was  the 
fragment  of  a  torn  letter;  and  if  the  half  sentences  did 
not  convey  any  clear  meaning,  they  were  sufficient  to  lead 
the  mind  into  all  sorts  of  conjectures. 

The  fragment  read  as  follows  : — 
*'  of  M.  Raoul,  I  have  been  very  im  .  .  .  plotted  against 

him,  of  whom  never warn  Prosper,   and  then 

best  friend,  he  .  .  ,  .  .  .  hand  of  Mademoiselle 

Ma  ..." 

Prosper  never  closed  his  eyes  all  that  night. 


IX. 

Noi  far  from  the  Palais  Royal,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honord, 
is  the  sign  of  "  La  Bonne  Foi,"  a  small  establishment, 
half  cafe  and  half  fruiterer's  shop,  much  frequented  by 
the  work-people  of  the  neighborhood. 

It  was  in  this  modest  cafe  that  Prosper,  the  day  after 
his  release,  awaited  M.  Verduret,  who  had  promised  to 
meet  him  at  four  o'clock.  Just  as  the  clock  struck  the 
hour,  M.  Verduret,  who  was  punctuality  itself,  appeared. 
He  was  more  red-faced  and  self-satisfied,  if  possible,  than 
on  the  day  before.  As  soon  as  the  waiter,  of  whom  he 
ordered  a  glass  of  beer,  had  left  them,  M.  Verduret  said 
to  Prosper  :  *'  Well,  are  all  our  commissions  executed  ?  " 


114  P^L^  ^0.  113. 

"  Yes,  every  one." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  costumier  ?  ** 

"  I  gave  him  your  letter,  and  everything  you  ordered 
will  be  sent  to  the  Grand  Archangel  to-morrow." 

"  Very  good ;  you  have  not  lost  time,  neither  have  I. 
I  have  a  lot  of  news  for  you." 

The  "  Bonne  Foi "  is  almost  deserted  at  four  o'clock. 
The  hour  for  coffee  is  passed,  and  the  hour  for  absinthe 
has  not  yet  come.  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  could  there- 
fore talk  at  their  ease  without  fear  of  being  overheard  by 
listening  neighbors.  The  former  drew  forth  his  precious 
diary  which,  like  the  enchanted  book  in  the  fairy-tale,  had 
an  answer  for  every  question.  "  While  awaiting  our  em- 
issaries whom  I  appointed  to  meet  me  here,"  said  he,  "  let 
us  devote  a  little  time  to  M.  de  Lagors." 

At  this  name  Prosper  did  not  protest,  as  he  had  done 
the  previous  day.  Like  those  imperceptible  insects  which, 
having  once  penetrated  the  root  of  a  tree  devour  it  in  a 
single  night,  suspicion,  when  it  invades  our  minds,  soon 
develops  itself  and  destroys  our  firmest  beliefs.  De  La- 
gors's  visit  and  the  fragment  of  Gipsy's  letter  had  filled 
Prosper  with  suspicions  which  had  grown  stronger  and 
more  settled  as  time  went  on. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  friend,"  asked  M.  Verduret, 
"  what  part  of  France  this  devoted  friend  of  yours  comes 
from  ? " 

"  He  was  born  at  St.  Remy,  which  is  also  Madame 
Fauvel's  native  town." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  perfectly  !  He  has  not  only  often  told  me  so, 
but  I  have  heard  him  tell  M.  Fauvel ;  and  he  would  talk 
to  Madame  Fauvel  by  the  hour  about  his  mother,  who 
was  cousin  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  dearly  beloved  bv 
her." 

"  Then  you  think  there  is  no  possible  doubt  or  error 
about  this  part  of  his  story  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  least." 

"  Well,  things  are  assuming  a  queer  appearance,"  said 
M.  Verduret.  And  he  began  to  whistle  between  his  teeth.; 
which,  with  him,  was  a  sign  of  intense  inward  satis- 
faction. 

"What  do  you  refer  to  ?  "  inquired  Prosper. 

"  To  what  I  have  just  discovered — to  what  I  have  all 


FILE  NO.  113.  115 

along  expected.  Good  people  !  "  he  exclaimed,  imitating 
the  manner  of  a  showman  at  a  fair,  "  it  is  a  lovely  town, 
St.  Remy,  with  six  thousand  inhabitants,  charming  boule- 
vards on  the  site  of  the  old  fortifications,  handsome  town 
hall,  numerous  fountains,  large  charcoal  market,  silk  fac 
lories,  famous  hospital,  and  so  on." 

Prosper  was  on  thorns.  "  Please  be  so  good,"  said  he, 
"  as  to  explain  what  you — " 

"It  also  contains,"  continued  M.  Verduret,  "a  Roman 
triumphal  arch,  which  is  of  unparalleled  beauty,  and  a 
Greek  mausoleum  ;  but  no  De  Lagors.  St.  Remy  is  the 
native  town  of  Nostradamus,  but  not  of  your  friend." 

"Yet  I  have  had  proofs." 

"  Naturally.  But  proofs  can  be  fabricated  ;  relatives 
can  be  improvised.  Your  evidence  is  open  to  suspicion. 
My  information  is  undeniable,  perfectly  authenticated. 
While  you  were  pining  in  prison,  I  was  preparing  my  bat- 
teries, and  collecting  ammunition  to  open  fire.  I  wrote  to 
St.  Remy,  and  received  answers  to  my  questions." 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  know  w^hat  they  were  ?  " 

"  Have  patience,"  said  M.  Verduret  as  he  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  his  diary.  "  Ah,  here  is  number  one.  Bow 
to  it  respectfully,  'tis  official."     He  then  read  : 

"  '  De  Lagors, — Very  old  family,  originally  from  Mail- 
lane,  settled  at  St.  Remy  about  a  century  ago — '  " 

"  I  told  you  so,"  cried  Prosper. 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  finish,"  said  M.  Verduret. 

"  '  The  last  of  the  De  Lagors  (Jules-Rene-Henri),  bear- 
ing without  clear  authority  the  title  of  count,  married  in 
1829  Mademoiselle  Rosalie-Clarisse  Fontanel,  of  Taras- 
con;  died  December  1848  leaving  two  daughters,  but  no 
male  issue.  The  town  registers  make  no  mention  of  any 
person  in  the  district  bearing  the  name  of  De  Lagors.'  " 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  this  information  ?  "  asked 
the  stout  man  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

Prosper  was  astounded.  "  But  why,  then,  does  M.  Fau- 
vel  treat  Raoul  as  his  nephew  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ah,  you  mean'as  his  wife's  nephew  !  Let  us  examine 
note  number  two  :  it  is  not  official,  but  it  throws  a  valuable 
light  upon  your  friend's  income  of  twenty  thousand 
francs. 

"'Jules  Rend-Henri  dc  Lagors,  last  of  his  name,  died 
at  St.  Remy  on   the   29th  of  December,  1848,  in  a  state 


ii5  FILE  NO.  113. 

verging  on  poverty.  He  at  one  time  was  possessed  of  a 
moderate  fortune,  but  invested  it  in  a  nursery  for  silk' 
worms,and  lost  it  all. 

'''  He  had  no  son,  but  left  two  daughters,  one  of  whom 
is  a  teacher  at  Aix,  and  the  other  married  to  a  small 
tradesman  at  Orgon.  His  widow,  who  lives  at  Montag- 
nette,  is  supported  entirely  by  one  of  her  relatives,  the 
wife  of  a  rich  banker  in  Paris.  No  person  of  the  name  of 
De  Lagors  lives  in  the  district  of  Aries.'  " 

"  That  is  all,"  said  M.  Verduret ;  "  do  you  think  it 
enough  ? " 

"Really,  sir,  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  awake  or 
dreaming." 

"  You  will  be  awake  after  awhile.  Now,  I  wish  to 
mention  one  thing.  Some  people  may  assert  that  the 
widow  of  De  Lagors  had  a  child  born  after  her  husband's 
death.  This  objection  is  destroyed  by  the  age  of  your 
friend.  Raoul  is  twenty-four,  and  M.  de  Lagors  has  not 
been  dead  twenty  years." 

"  But,"  observed  Prosper,  thoughtfully,  "  who  then  can 
Raoul  be  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  The  fact  is,  I  am  more  perplexed  to 
find  out  who  he  is  than  to  know  who  he  is  not.  There  is 
one  man  who  could  give  us  all  the  information  we  seek, 
but  he  will  take  good  care  to  keep  his  mouth  shut." 

"  You  mean  M.  de  Clameran  .?  " 

"  Him,  and  no  one  else." 

"  I  have  always  felt  the  most  inexplicable  aversion 
towards  him.  Ah,  if  we  could  only  get  an  account  of  his 
life  !  " 

"  I  have  been  furnished  with  a  few  notes  concerning  the 
De  Clameran  family  by  your  father,  who  knew  them  well ; 
they  are  brief,  but  I  expect  more." 

"  What  did  my  father  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  favorable,  you  may  be  sure.  I  will  read  you 
the  synopsis  of  his  information  : 

"  *  Louis  de  Clameran  was  born  at  the  Chateau  de 
Clameran,  near  Tarascon.  He  had  an  elder  brother 
named  Gaston,  who,  in  consequence  of  an  affray  in  which 
he  had  the  misfortune  to  kill  a  man  and  badly  wound 
another,  was  compelled  to  fly  the  country  in  1842.  Gas- 
ton  was  an  honest,   noble  youth,   universally   beloved. 


FILE  NO.  113.  "7 

Louis,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  wicked,  despicable  fellow, 
detested  by  all  who  knew  him. 

"  '  Upon  the  death  of  his  father,  Louis  came  to  Paris,  and 
in  less  than  two  years  had  squandered  not  only  his  own 
patrimony,  but  also  the  share  of  his  exiled  brother. 
Ruined  and  harassed  by  debt,  Louis  entered  the  army, 
but  behaved  so  disgracefully  that  he  was  constantly  being 
punished.  After  leaving  the  army  we  lose  sight  of  him  ; 
all  that  is  known  is,  that  he  went  to  England,  and  thence 
to  a  German  gambling  resort,  where  he  became  notorious 
for  his  scandalous  conduct. 

"*In  1865  we  find  him  again  in  Paris.  He  was  in 
great  poverty,  and  his  associates  were  among  the  most  de- 
praved classes.  But  he  suddenly  heard  of  the  return  of 
his  brother  Gaston  to  France.  Gaston  had  made  a  fort- 
une in  Mexico ;  but  being  still  a  young  man,  and  accus- 
tomed to  a  very  active  life,  he  purchased  near  Olcoron  an 
iron  foundry,  intending  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life 
in  working  it.  Six  months  ago  he  died  in  the  arms  of  his 
brother  Louis.  His  death  provided  our  De  Clameran  with 
an  immense  fortune,  and  the  title  of  marquis.'" 

"  Then,"  said  Prosper,  "  from  all  this  I  judge  that  M. 
de  Clameran  was  very  poor  when  I  met  him  for  the  first 
time  at  M.  Fauvel's  ?  " 

*'  Evidently." 

"And  shortly  afterwards  De  Lagors  arrived  from  the 
Country  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  And  about  a  month  after  his  appearance,  Madeleine 
suddenly  dismissed  me  ?  " 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  M.  Verduret,  "  I  am  glad  you  are 
beginning  to  understand  the  state  of  affairs."  He  was 
here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  stranger.  The 
new-comer  was  a  dandified-looking  coachman,  with  ele^ 
gant  black  whiskers,  shining  boots  with  light  tops,  a  yel' 
low  cap,  and  a  red  and  black  striped  waistcoat.  Aftet 
cautiously  looking  round  the  room,  he  walked  straight  up 
to  the  table  where  M.  Verduret  sat. 

"  What  is  the  news,  Master  Joseph  Dubois  ?  "  asked  the 
stout  man  eagerly. 

"  Ah,  my  chief,  don't  ask  me  !  "  answered  the  man« 
"  Things  are  getting  warm,  very  warm." 

Prosper  concentrated  all  his  attention  upon   this  superb 


ii8  FILE  NO.  113. 

servant.  He  thought  he  recognized  his  face.  He  had  cer 
tainly  somewhere  seen  that  retreating  forehead  and  those 
little  restless  black  eyes,  but  where  and  when  he  could 
not  remember.  Meanwhile  Master  Joseph  had  taken  a 
seat  at  a  table  adjoining  the  one  occupied  by  M.  Verdu- 
ret  and  Prosper  ;  and,  having  called  for  some  absinthe, 
was  preparing  it  by  holding  the  water  aloft  and  slowly 
dropping  it  into  the  glass. 

"  What  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  "  inquired  M.  Verduret. 

'•  In  the  first  place,  my  chief,  I  must  say  that  the  posi 
tion  of  valet  and  coachman  to  M.  de  Clameran  is  by  no 
means  a  bed  of  roses." 

"  Go  on  ;  come  to  the  point.  You  can  complain  to- 
morrow." 

"  Very  good.  Yesterday  my  master  walked  out  at  tv/o 
o'clock.  I,  of  course,  followed  him.  Do  you  know  where 
he  went  ?  The  thing  was  as  good  as  a  farce.  He  went 
to  the  Grand  Archangel  to  see  Madame  Nina  Gipsy." 

"Well,  make  haste.  They  told  him  she  was  gone. 
What  then  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?  Ah  !  he  was  not  at  all  pleased,  I  can 
tell  you.  He  hurried  back  to  the  hotel  where  the  other,  M. 
de  Lagors,  awaited  him.  He  swore  like  a  trooper,  and  M. 
Raoul  asked  him  what  had  happened  to  put  him  in  such  a 
bad  humor.  '  Nothing,'  replied  my  master,  *  except  that 
the  little  devil  has  run  off,  and  no  one  knows  where  she 
is  ;  she  has  slipped  through  our  fingers.'  Tlien  they  both 
appeared  to  be  vexed  and  uneasy.  De  Lagors  asked  if 
she  knew  anything  serious.  '  She  knows  nothing  but 
what  I  told  you,'  replied  De  Clameran  ;  '  but  this  noth- 
ing, falling  into  the  ear  of  a  man  with  any  suspicions,  will 
be  more  than  enough  to  work  on.'  " 

M.  Verduret  smiled  like  a  man  who  had  his  reasons  for 
appreciating  at  their  just  value  De  Clameran's  fears. 
"  Well,  your  master  is  not  without  sense  after  all,"  said 
he  ;  "  don't  you  think  he  showed  it  by  saying  that  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  chief.  Then  De  Lagors  exclaimed  :  *  If  it 
is  as  serious  as  that,  we  must  get  rid  of  the  little  beg- 
gar 1  '  But  my  master  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laugh- 
ing loudly  said  :  '  You  talk  like  an  idiot ;  when  one  is 
annoyed  by  a  woman  of  this  sort,  one  must  take  measures 
to  get  rid  of  her  administratively.'  This  idea  seemed  to 
Clause  them  both  very  much." 


FILE  NO.  113.  119 

"  I  can  understand  their  being  entertained  by  it,"  said 
M.  Verduret ;  "  it  is  an  excellent  idea  ;  but  the  misfortune 
is,  it  is  too  late  to  carry  it  out.  The  nothing  which  made 
De  Clameran  uneasy  has  already  fallen  into  a  knowing 
ear." 

With  breathless  curiosity.  Prosper  listened  to  this  re- 
port, every  word  of  which  seemed  to  throw  light  upon 
past  events.  Now,  he  thought,  he  understood  the  frag- 
ment of  Gipsy's  letter.  He  saw  that  this  Raoul,  in  wliom 
he  had  confided  so  deeply,  was  nothing  better  than  a 
scoundrel.  A  thousand  little  circumstances,  unnoticed  at 
the  time,  now  recurred  to  his  mind,  and  made  him  won- 
der how  he  could  have  remained  blind  so  long. 

Master  Joseph  Dubois  continued  his  report, — 

"  Yesterday,  after  dinner,  my  master  decked  himself 
out  like  a  bridegroom.  I  shaved  him,  curled  his  hair,  and 
perfumed  him  with  especial  care,  after  which  I  drove  him 
to  the  Rue  de  Province  to  call  on  Madam  Fauvel." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Prosper,  "  after  the  insulting  lan- 
guage he  used  the  day  of  the  robbery,  did  he  dare  to  visit 
the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  young  gentleman;  he  not  only  dared  this, 
but  he  also  stayed  there  until  nearly  midnight,  to  my  great 
discomfort  ;  for  I  got  thoroughly  drenched  while  waiting 
for  him." 

"  How  did  he  look  when  he  came  out  ?  "  asked  M.  Ver- 
duret. 

"  Well,  he  certainly  looked  less  pleased  than  when  he 
went  in.  After  putting  up  my  carriage,  and  rubbing  down 
my  horse,  I  went  to  see  if  he  wanted  anything  ;  I  found 
the  door  locked,  and  he  abused  me  without  stint  through 
the  keyhole." 

And  to  assist  the  digestion  of  this  insult.  Master  Joseph 
here  gulped  down  a  mouthful  of  absinthe. 

"  Is  that  all  1 "  questioned  M.  Verduret. 

"  All  that  occurred  yesterday,  my  chief  ;  but  this  morn- 
inp;  my  master  rose  late,  still  in  a  horribly  bad  humor. 
At  noon  Raoul  arrived,  also  in  a  rage.  They  at  once  be- 
gan to  dispute,  and  there  was  such  a  row  !  Why,  the  most 
abandoned  thieves  would  have  blushed  at  their  foul  lan- 
guage. At  one  time  my  master  seized  the  other  by  the 
throat  and  shook  him  like  a  reed.  But  Raoul  was  too 
quick  for  him,  and  saved  himself  from  strangulation  b^ 


ISO  FILE  NO.  113. 

drawing  out  a  sharp-pointed  knife,  the  sight  of  which  made 
my  master  drop  him  in  a  hurry,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  But  what  was  it  that  they  said  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  rub,  my  chief,"  replied  Joseph  in  a 
piteous  tone  ;  "  the  scamps  spoke  English,  so  I  could  not 
understand  them.  But  I  am  sure  they  were  disputing 
about  money." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"  Because  in  view  of  the  Exhibition  I  learned  the  word 
money  in  every  language,  and  it  constantly  recurred  in 
their  conversation." 

M.  Verduret  sat  with  knit  brows,  talking  in  an  under- 
tone to  himself  ;  and  Prosper,  who  was  watching  him, 
wondered  if  he  was  trying  to  divine  the  subject  of  the  dis- 
pute by  the  mere  force  of  reflection. 

"  When  they  had  done  fighting,"  continued  Joseph,  "  the 
rascals  began  to  talk  in  French  again  ;  but  they  only  spoke 
of  a  fancy  ball  which  is  to  be  given  by  some  banker. 
When  Raoul  was  leaving,  my  master  said,  '  Since  this 
thing  is  inevitable,  and  must  take  place  to-day,  you  had 
better  remain  at  home,  at  Vesinet,  this  evening.'  Raoul 
replied,  '  Of  course.'  " 

Evening  was  approaching,  and  the  cafe  was  gradually 
filling  with  customers,  who  were  altogether  calling  for 
either  absinthe  or  bitters.  The  waiters,  mounting  oh  stools, 
lit  the  gas-burners  placed  round  the  room.  "  It  is  time 
to  go,"  said  M.  Verduret  to  Joseph,  "your  masver  may 
want  you  ;  besides,  here  is  some  one  come  for  me.  I  will 
see  you  to-morrow." 

The  new-comer  was  no  other  than  Cavaillon,  more 
troubled  and  frightened  than  ever.  He  looked  uneasily 
around,  as  if  he  expected  a  posse  of  policemen  to  make 
their  appearance,  and  carry  him  off  to  prison.  He  did 
not  sit  down  at  M.  Verduret's  table,  but  stealthily  gave 
his  hand  to  Prosper,  and,  after  assuring  himself  that  no 
one  was  observing  them,  handed  M.  Verduret  a  parcel, 
saying :  "  She  found  this  in  a  cupboard." 

It  was  a  handsomely  bound  prayer-book.  M.  Verduret 
rapidly  turned  over  the  leaves,  and  soon  found  the  pages 
from  which  the  words  pasted  on  Prosper's  letter  had  been 
cut.  "  I  had  moral  proofs,"  he  said,  handing  the  book  to 
Prosper,  "  but  here  is  material  proof  sufiicient  in  itself  tQ 
gave  you," 


FILE  NO.  113.  121 

When  Prosper  looked  at  the  book,  he  turned  as  pale  as 
a  ghost.  He  recognized  it  instantly.  He  had  given  it  to 
Madeleine  in  exchange  for  the  relic.  He  opened  it,  and 
on  the  fly-leaf  Madeleine  had  written,  "  Souvenir  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Fourvieres,  17th  January,  1866."  "This  book 
belongs  to  Madeleine,"  he  cried. 

M.  Verduret  did  not  reply,  but  walked  towards  a  young 
man  dressed  like  a  wine  cooper,  who  had  just  entered  the 
caf^.  Glancing  at  a  note  which  this  person  handed  to 
him,  he  hastened  back  to  the  table,  and  said  in  an  agitated 
voice  :  "  I  think  we  have  got  them  now  !  " 

Throwing  a  five-franc  piece  on  the  table,  and  without 
saying  a  word  to  Cavaillon,  M.  Verduret  seized  Prosper's 
arm,  and  hurried  from  the  room.  "  What  a  fatality  !  "  he 
said,  as  he  hastened  along  the  street :  "  we  may  perhaps 
miss  them.  We  shall  certainly  reach  the  St.  Lazare  station 
too  late  for  the  St.  Germain  train." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  where  are  you  going  ? "  asked 
Prosper. 

"  Never  mind,  we  can  talk  after  we  start.     Hurry  !  " 

On  arriving  at  the  Place  du  Palais  Royal,  M.  Verduret 
stopped  in  front  of  one  of  the  cabs  stationed  there,  and 
examined  the  horses  at  a  glance.  "  How  much  will  you 
want  for  driving  us  to  Vesinet  1 "  he  asked  of  the  driver. 

"I  don't  know  the  road  very  well,"  replied  the  cabman. 

The  name  of  Vesinet  was  enough  for  Prosper.  "  I  will 
point  out  the  road,"  he  quickly  said. 

"  Well,"  said  the  driver,  "  at  this  time  of  night,  in  such 
dreadful  weather,  it  ought  to  be — twenty-five  francs — " 

"  And  to  drive  very  fast  ?  " 

"  Bless  my  soul !  Why,  I  leave  that  to  your  honor's 
generosity ;  but  if  you  put  it  at  thirty-five  francs — " 

"You  shall  have  a  hundred,"  interrupted  M.  Verduret, 
*'  if  you  overtake  a  vehicle  which  has  half  an  hour's  start 
of  us." 

"  By  Jingo  !  "  cried  the  delighted  driver ;  "  jump  in 
quick  :  we  are  losing  time  !  "  And  whipping  up  his  lean 
horses,  he  galloped  them  dow^n  the  Rue  de  Valois  at  a 
fearful  speed. 


122  BILE  NO.  113. 


X. 


On  quitting  the  little  station  of  Vesinet,  we  come  upon 
two  roads.  One,  to  the  left,  macadamized  and  kept  in 
perfect  repair,  leads  to  the  village,  and  along  it  glimpses 
are  here  and  there  obtained  of  the  new  church  through 
the  openings  between  the  trees.  The  other  road,  newly 
laid  out  and  scarcely  levelled,  leads  through  the  woods. 
Along  the  latter,  which  before  the  lapse  of  five  years  will 
be  a  busy  street,  are  a  few  houses,  tasteless  in  design, 
rising  here  and  there  out  of  the  foliage  :  rural  retreats  of 
Paris  tradesmen,  occupied  only  during  the  summer. 

It  was  at  the  junction  of  these  two  roads  that  Prosper 
stopped  the  cab.  The  driver  had  gained  his  hundred 
francs.  The  horses  were  completely  worn  out,  bu^  they 
had  accomplished  all  that  was  expected  of  them ;  M. 
Verduret  could  distinguish  the  lamps  of  another  cab,  about 
fifty  yards  ahead  of  him. 

M.  Verduret  jumped  out,  and  handing  the  driver  a  hun- 
dred-franc note,  said :  "  Here  is  what  I  promised  you. 
Go  to  the  first  tavern  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road 
as  you  enter  the  village.  If  we  do  not  meet  you  there  in 
an  hour,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  return  to  Paris  " 

The  driver  was  overwhelming  in  his  thanks  ;  but  neither 
Prosper  nor  his  friend  heard  them.  They  had  already 
started  along  the  new  road.  The  weather,  which  had 
been  inclement  when  they  set  out,  was  now  fearful.  The 
rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  a  furious  wind  howled  dismally 
through  the  woods.  The  intense  darkness  was  rendered 
more  dreary  by  the  occasional  glimmer  of  the  lamps  of 
the  distant  railway  station,  and  which  seemed  about  to  be 
extinguished  by  every  fresh  gust  of  wind. 

M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  had  been  running  along  the 
muddy  road  for  about  five  minutes,  when  suddenly  the  lat- 
ter stopped  and  said  :  "  This  is  Raoul's  house." 

Before  the  iron  gate  of  an  isolated  house  was  the  cab 
which  M.  Verduret  had  followed.  In  spite  of  the  pouring 
rain,  the  driver,  wrapped  in  a  thick  cloak,  and  leaning 
back  on  his  seat,  was  already  fast  asleep,  while  waiting 
for  the  person  whom  he  had  brought  to  the  house  a  few 
minutes  ago. 


PILE  NO,  113.  123 

M.  Verduret  pulled  his  cloak,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 
"  Wake  up,  my  good  man." 

The  driver  started,  and  mechanically  gathering  up  his 
reins,  yawned  out  :  "  I  am  ready  ;  jump  in  !  "  But  when, 
by  the  light  of  his  lamps,  he  caught  sight  of  two  men  in 
this  lonely  spot,  he  concluded  they  meant  to  rob  him,  and 
perhaps  to  take  his  life.  "  I  am  engaged  !  "  he  cried  out, 
as  he  shook  his  whip;  '"  I  am  waiting  here  for  some  one." 

"I  know  that,  you  fool,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  "and 
only  wish  to  ask  you  a  question,  which  you  can  gain  five 
francs  by  answering.  Did  you  not  bring  a  middle-aged 
lady  here .? " 

This  question,  with  the  promise  of  five  francs,  far  from 
re-assuring  the  cabman,  only  increased  his  alarm.  "  I 
have  already  told  you  I  am  waiting  for  some  one,"  he 
said ;  "  and  if  you  don't  go  away  and  leave  me  alone,  I 
will  call  out  for  help." 

M.  Verduret  drew  back  quickly.  "  Come  away,"  he 
whispered  to  Prosper,  "  the  fool  will  do  as  he  says  ;  and 
the  alarm  once  given,  farewell  to  our  projects.  We  must 
find  some  other  entrance  than  by  the  gate." 

They  then  went  along  the  wall  surrounding  the  garden, 
in  search  of  a  place  where  it  was  possible  to  scale  it. 
This  was  difficult  to  discover,  the  wall  being  twelve  feet 
high,  and  the  night  very  dark.  Fortunately,  M.  Verduret 
was  very  agile  ;  and,  having  decided  upon  the  spot  to  be 
scaled,  he  drew  back  a  few  paces,  and  making  a  sudden 
spring,  seized  hold  of  one  of  the  projecting  stones  on  the 
top ;  then  drawing  himself  up  by  the  aid  of  his  hands  and 
feet,  soon  found  himself  astride  the  w^all. 

It  was  now  Prosper's  turn  to  climb  up ;  but,  though 
much  younger  than  his  companion,  he  had  not  his  agility 
and  strength,  and  would  never  have  succeeded  if  M.  Ver- 
duret had  not  pulled  him  up  and  then  helped  him  down 
on  the  other  side. 

Once  in  the  garden,  M.  Verduret  looked  about  him  to 
study  the  situation.  The  house  occupied  by  M.  de  Lagors 
stood  in  the  middle  of  a  large  garden.  It  was  narrow, 
two  stories  high,  and  had  attics.  In  only  one  window,  on 
the  second  story,  was  there  any  light. 

"As  you  have  often  been  here,"  said  M.  Verduret,  "you 
must  know  all  about  the  arrangement  of  the  hou$e  :  what 
foom  is  that  where  we  see  the  light  ? " 


124  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  That  is  Uaoul's  bed-chamber/' 

"  Very  good.     What  rooms  are  on  the  ground  floor  ?  " 

"  The  kitchen,  pantry,  billiard-room,  and  dining-room." 

"  And  on  the  floor  above  1 " 

"  Two  drawing-rooms,  separated  by  folding  doors  and  a 
study." 

*'  Where  do  the  servants  sleep  ?  " 

**  Raoul  has  none  at  present.  He  is  waited  on  by  a 
man  and  his  wife,  who  live  at  Vesinet ;  they  come  in  the 
morning,  and  leave  after  dinner." 

M.  Verduret  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully.  "  That  suits 
our  plans  exactly,"  he  said  ;  "  it  will  be  strange  if  we  do 
not  hear  what  Raoul  has  to  say  to  this  person  who  has 
come  from  Paris  at  this  time  of  night  to  see  him.  Let  us 
go  in." 

Prosper  seemed  averse  to  this,  and  said :  "  That  would 
be  a  serious  thing  for  us  to  do." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  what  else  did  we  come  here  for  \  "  ex- 
claimed M.  Verduret.  "  Did  you  think  ours  was  a 
pleasure  trip,  merely  to  enjoy  this  lovely  weather  .'' ''  con- 
tinued he  in  a  bantering  tone. 

"  But  we  might  be  discovered." 

"  Suppose  we  are  1  If  the  least  noise  betrays  our 
presence,  you  have  only  to  advance  boldly  as  u  friend 
come  to  visit  a  friend,  and  who,  finding  the  door  open, 
walked  in." 

But  unfortunately  the  heavy  oak  door  was  locked.  M. 
Verduret  shook  it  in  vain.  "  How  foolish  !  "  he  said  with 
vexation,  "  I  ought  to  have  brought  my  instruments  with 
me.  A  common  lock  which  could  be  opened  with  a  nail, 
and  I  have  not  even  a  piece  of  Wire  !  "  Seeing  it  useless 
to  attempt  the  door,  he  tried  successively  every  window 
on  the  ground  floor.  Alas !  each  shutter  was  securely 
fastened  on  the  inside. 

M.  Verduret  was  provoked.  He  prowled  round  the 
house  like  a  fox  round  a  hen-roost,  seeking  an  entrance, 
but  finding  none.  Despairingly  he  came  back  to  the  spot 
in  front  of  the  house,  whence  he  had  the  best  view  of  the 
lighted  window.  "  If  I  could  only  look  in,"  he  said 
"  To  think  that  in  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  window, 
"  -"s  the  solution  of  the  mystery ;  and  we  are  cut  off  from 
it  by  thirty  feet  or  so  of  wall !  " 

?rosper  was  more  surprised  than  ever  at  his  companion's 


FILE  NO.  113.  125 

strange  behavior.  The  latter  seemed  perfectly  at  home 
in  this  garden,  and  ran  about  it  without  any  precaution. 
One  would  have  supposed  him  accustomed  to  such  expedi- 
tions, especially  when  he  spoke  of  picking  the  lock  of  an 
occupied  house,  as  coolly  as  though  he  were  talking  of 
opening  a  snuff-box.  He  was  utterly  indifferent  to  the 
rain  and  sleet  driven  in  his  face  by  the  gusts  of  wind  as 
he  splashed  about  in  the  mud  trying  to  find  some  means 
of  entrance.  "  I  must  get  a  peep  into  that  window,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  will  certainly  do  so,  cost  what  it  may !  " 

Prosper  seemed  to  suddenly  remember  something. 
*'  There  is  a  ladder  here,"  he  remarked  in  an  undertone. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before  t     Where  is  it  ?  ^ 

"  At  the  end  of  the  garden,  under  the  trees." 

They  ran  to  the  spot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  ladder 
was  standing  against  the  house.  But  to  their  annoyance 
they  found  it  five  feet  too  short.  Five  long  feet  of  wall 
between  the  top  of  the  ladder  and  the  lighted  window  w^as 
a  discouraging  sight  to  Prosper,  who  exclaimed :  "  We 
cannot  reach  it." 

"We  can  reach  it,"  cried  M.  Verduret  triumphantly. 
And  quickly  seizing  the  ladder,  he  cautiously  raised  it, 
and  rested  the  bottom  round  on  his  shoulders,  holding,  at 
the  same  time,  the  two  uprights  firmly  and  steadily  with 
his  hands.  The  obstacle  was  overcome.  "  Now  mount," 
he  said  to  his  companion. 

Prosper  did  not  hesitate.  Enthusiasm  at  seeing  diffi- 
culties so  skilfully  conquered,  and  the  hope  of  triumph, 
gave  him  a  strength  and  agility  which  he  had  never 
imagined  he  possessed.  He  climbed  up  gently  till  he 
reached  the  lower  rounds,  then  quickly  mounted  the  ladder, 
which  swayed  and  trembled  beneath  his  weight. 

But  he  had  scarcely  looked  in  at  the  lighted  window 
when  he  uttered  a  cry,  which  w^as  drowned  in  the  roaring 
tempest,  and  sliding  part  way  down  the  ladder,  he  dropped 
like  a  log  on  the  wet  grass,  exclaiming :  "  The  villain  ! 
the  villain  !  " 

With  wonderful  promptitude  and  vigor  M.  Verduret  laid 
the  ladder  on  the  ground,  and  ran  toward  Prosper,  fearing 
he  was  dangerously  injured.  "  Are  you  hurt  ?  What  did 
you  see  ?  "  he  asked. 

But  Prosper  had  already  risen.  Although  he  had  had 
'^  violent  fall,  he  felt  nothing ;  he  was  in  that  state  when 


126  FILE  NO.  113. 

mind  governs  matter  so  absolutely  that  the  body  is  insen- 
sible to  pain.  "  I  saw,"  he  answered  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
"  I  saw  Madeleine — do  you  understand,  Madeleine — in 
that  room,  alone  with  Raoul." 

M.  Verduret  was  confounded.  Was  it  possible  that  he, 
the  infallible  expert,  had  been  mistaken  in  his  deduc- 
tions .-* 

He  well  knew  that  M.  de  Lagors's  visitor  was  a  woman  ; 
but  his  own  conjectures,  and  the  note  which  Madame 
Gipsy  had  sent  to  him  at  the  cafe,  had  caused  him  to 
believe  that  this  woman  was  Madame  Fauvel. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,"  he  said  to  Prosper. 

"  No,  sir,  no.  Never  could  I  mistake  another  for 
Madeleine.  Ah !  you  who  heard  what  she  said  to  me 
yesterday,  tell  me  :  was  I  to  have  expected  such  infamous 
treason  as  this?  You  said  to  me  then:  'She  loves  you, 
she  loves  you  ! '     What  do  you  think  now  ?  speak  ! " 

M.  Verduret  did  not  answer.  He  had  been  completely 
bewildered  by  his  mistake,  and  was  now  racking  his  brain 
to  discover  the  cause  of  it,  which  was  soon  discerned  by 
his  penetrating  mind. 

"This  is  the  secret  discovered  by  Nina,"  continued 
Prosper.  "  Madeleine,  this  pure  and  noble  Madeleine, 
whom  I  believed  to  be  as  immaculate  as  an  angel,  is  the 
mistress  of  this  thief,  who  has  even  stolen  the  name  he 
bears.  And  I,  trusting  fool  that  I  was,  made  this  scoun- 
drel my  best  friend.  I  confided  to  him  all  my  hopes  and 
fears ;  and  he  was  her  lover !  Of  course  they  amused 
themselves  by  ridiculing  my  silly  devotion  and  blind  con- 
fidence ! " 

He  stopped,  overcome  by  his  violent  emotions.  Wound- 
ed vanity  is  the  worst  of  miseries.  The  certainty  of  hav- 
ing been  so  shamefully  deceived  and  betrayed  made  Pros- 
per almost  insane  with  rage.  "  This  is  the  last  humilia- 
tion I  shall  submit  to,"  he  fiercely  cried.  "  It  shall  not 
be  said  that  I  was  coward  enough  to  let  an  insult  like  this 
go  unpunished." 

He  started  towards  the  house  ;  but  M.  Verduret  seized 
his  arm,  and  said  :  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  To  have  my  revenge  !  I  will  break  down  the  door  ; 
what  do  I  care  for  the  noise  and  scandal,  now  that  I  have 
nothing  to  lose  ?  I  shall  not  attempt  to  creep  into  the 
house  like  a  thief,  but  as  a  master — as  one  who  has   3 


FILE  NO.  113.  127 

right  to  enter ;  as  a  man  who,  having  received  a  deadly 
insult,  comes  to  demand  satisfaction." 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Prosper." 

"  Who  will  prevent  me  t  " 

"  I  will !  " 

"  You  ?  do  not  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  deter  me. 
T  will  appear  before  them,  put  them  to  the  blush,  kill  them 
both,  and  then  put  an  end  to  my  own  wretched  existence. 
That  is  what  I  intend  to  do,  and  nothing  shall  hinder 
me!" 

If  M.  Verduret  had  not  held  Prosper  with  a  vice-lika 
grip,  he  would  have  escaped,  and  attempted  to  carry  out 
his  threat.  "  If  you  make  any  noise,  Prosper,  or  raise  an 
alarm,  all  your  hopes  are  ruined,"  said  M.  Verduret. 

"  I  have  no  hopes  now." 

"  Raoul,  put  on  his  guard,  will  escape  us,  and  you  will 
remain  dishonored  forever." 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  everything  to  me.  I  have  sworn  to  prove  your 
innocence.  A  man  of  your  age  can  easily  find  a  wife,  but 
can  never  restore  lustre  to  a  tarnished  name.  Let  nothing 
interfere  with  the  establishing  of  your  innocence. 

Genuine  passion  is  uninfluenced  by  surrounding  circum- 
stances. M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  stood  foot-deep  in 
mud,  wet  to  the  skin,  with  the  rain  pouring  down  on  their 
heads,  and  yet  still  continued  their  dispute.  "  I  will  be 
avenged,"  repeated  Prosper,  with  the  persistency  of  a 
fixed  idea:  "I  will  be  avenged." 

"  Well,  avenge  yourself  then  like  a  man,  and  not  like  a 
child  !  "  said  M.  Verduret  angrily. 

"Sir!" 

"  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  like  a  child.  What  will  you  do  after 
you  get  into  the  house  ?  Have  you  any  arms  ?  No.  You 
rush  upon  Raoul,  and  a  struggle  ensues ;  and  while  you 
two  are  fighting,  Madeleine  jumps  in  the  cab  and  drives 
off.  What  then  ?  Which  is  the  stronger,  you  or 
Raoul  ? " 

Overcome  by  the  sense  of  how  powerless  he  was.  Pros- 
per remained  silent. 

'^*  And  of  what  use  would  arms  be  ?  "  continued  M.  Ver- 
duret. "  It  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to  shoot  a  man 
whom  you  can  send  to  the  galleys." 

"  What  then  shall  I  do  ? " 


128  PILE  NO.  113. 

*'  Wait.  Vengeance  is  a  delicious  fmit,  which  must  be 
allowed  to  ripen  in  order  that  it  may  be  fully  enjoyed." 

Prosper  was  unsettled  in  his  resolution  ;  M.  Verduret, 
seeing  this,  advanced  his  last  and  strongest  argument. 
"  How  do  we  know,"  he  said,  ''  that  Mademoiselle  Made- 
leine is  here  on  her  own  account  ?  Did  we  not  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  sacrificing  herself  for  the  benefit 
of  some  one  else  ?  That  superior  will  which  compelled 
her  to  banish  you  may  have  constrained  this  step  to-night." 

Whatever  coincides  with  our  secret  wishes  is  alwavs 
eagerly  welcomed,  and  this  apparently  improbable  suppo™ 
sition  struck  Prosper  as  being  possibly  correct. 

"  That  might  be  the  case,"  he  murmured,  "  who  knows  ?  " 

"  I  would  soon  know,"  said  M.  Verduret,  "  if  I  could 
only  see  them  together  in  that  room." 

"  Will  you  promise  me,  sir,  to  tell  me  the  truth,  exactly 
what  you  yourself  think,  no  matter  how  painful  it  may  be 
for  me  t " 

"  I  swear  it,  upon  my  word  of  honor." 

At  these  words  Prosper,  with  a  strength  which  a  few 
minutes  before  he  would  not  have  believed  himself  pos- 
sessed of,  raised  the  ladder,  placed  the  last  round  on  his 
shoulders,  and  said  to  M.  Verduret :  "  Mount !  " 

M.  Verduret  rapidly  ascended  the  ladder,  scarcely  shak- 
ing it,  and  soon  had  his  head  on  a  level  with  the  window^ 
Prosper  had  seen  but  too  well.  There  was  Madeleine,  at 
this  hour  of  the  night,  alone  with  Raoul  de  Lagors  in  his 
bed-chamber  ! 

M.  Verduret  noticed  that  she  still  wore  her  bonnet  and 
mantle.  She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
talking  with  great  animation.  Her  look  and  gestures  be- 
trayed indignant  scorn.  There  was  an  expression  of  ill- 
disguised  loathing  upon  her  beautiful  face.  Raoul  was 
seated  in  a  low  chair  by  the  fire,  stirring  up  the  embers 
with  a  pair  of  tongs.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  shrug 
his  shoulders,  like  a  man  resigned  to  everything  he  heard, 
and  had  no  answer  to  make  beyond,  •'  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

M.  Verduret  would  willingly  have  given  the  handsome 
ring  on  his  finger  to  be  able  to  hear  what  was  being  said  ; 
but  the  roaring  wind  completely  drowned  the  voices  of 
the  speakers,  and  he  dared  not  place  his  ear  close  to  the 
vvindow  for  fear  of  being  perceived.     "  They  are  evidently 


FILE  NO.  113.  129 

quarrelling,"  he  thought ;  "  but  it  is  certainly  not  a  lovers^ 
quarrel." 

Madeleine  continued  talking ;  and  it  was  by  closely 
watching  Raoul's  face,  clearly  revealed  by  the  lamp  on 
the  chimney-piece,  that  M.  Verduret  hoped  to  discover  the 
meaning  of  the  scene  before  him.  Now  and  again  De  La- 
gors  would  start  and  tremble  in  spite  of  his  pretended  in- 
difference ;  or  else  he  would  strike  at  the  fire  with  the 
tongs,  as  if  giving  vent  to  his  rage  at  some  reproach  uttered 
by  Madeleine.  Finally,  Madeleine  changed  her  threats 
into  entreaties,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  almost  fell  on  her 
knees.  Raoul  turned  away  his  head,  and  refused  to  an- 
swer save  in  monosyllables. 

Several  times  she  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  but  each 
time  returned,  as  if  asking  a  favor,  and  unable  to  make 
up  her  mind  to  quit  the  house  till  she  had  obtained  it. 
At  last  she  seemed  to  have  uttered  something  decisive  ; 
for  Raoul  quickly  rose  and  took  from  a  desk  near  the  fire- 
place a  bundle  of  papers,  which  he  handed  to  her. 

"  Well,"  thought  M.  Verduret,  "  this  looks  bad.  Can 
it  be  a  compromising  correspondence  which  the  young  lady 
wants  to  secure  !  " 

Madeleine  took  the  papers,  but  was  apparently  still  dis- 
satisfied. She  seemed  to  entreat  Raoul  to  give  her  some- 
thing else,  but  he  refused  ;  and  she  then  threw  the  papers 
on  the  table.  These  papers  puzzled  M.  Verduret  very 
much,  as  he  gazed  at  them  through  the  window.  *'  I  am 
not  blind,"  he  said,  "  and  I  certainly  am  not  mistaken  ; 
those  red,  green,  and  gray  papers,  are  evidently  pawn 
tickets  ! " 

Madeleine  turned  over  the  papers  as  if  looking  for  some 
particular  ones.  She  selected  three,  which  she  put  in  her 
pocket,  disdainfully  pushing  the  others  aside.  She  was 
now  evidently  preparing  to  take  her  departure,  and  said  a 
few  words  to  Raoul,  who  took  up  the  lamp  as  if  to  escort 
her  down  stairs. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  M.  Verduret  to  see.  He 
carefully  descended  the  ladder,  muttering  to  himself: 
"  Pawn  tickets  !  What  infamous  mystery  lies  at  the  bot- 
tom of  all  this  ?  "  The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  hide 
the  ladder.  Raoul  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  look 
round  the  garden,  when  he  came  to  the  door  with  Made- 
leine, and  if  he  did  so  the  ladder  could  scarcely  fail  to  at' 


130  PILE  NO.  113. 

tract  his  attention.  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  hastily  laid 
it  on  the  ground,  regardless  of  the  shrubs  which  they  de- 
stroyed in  doing  so,  and  then  concealed  themselves  among 
the  trees,  whence  they  could  watch  at  once  the  front  door 
and  the  outer  gate. 

Madeleine  and  Raoul  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Raoul 
placed  the  lamp  on  the  floor,  and  offered  his  hand  to  the 
girl ;  but  she  refused  it  with  haughty  contempt,  which 
somewhat  soothed  Prosper's  lacerated  heart.  This  scorn- 
ful behavior  did  not,  however,  seem  to  surprise  or  hurt 
Raoul,  who  simply  answered  oy  an  ironical  gesture  which 
implied,  "As  you  please!"  He  followed  Madeleine  to 
the  gate,  which  he  opened  and  closed  after  her;  then  he 
hurried  back  to  the  house,  while  the  cab  drove  rapidly 
away. 

"  Now,"  said  Prosper,  *'  you  must  tell  me  what  you 
think.  You  promised  to  let  me  know  the  truth  no  matter 
how  bitter  it  might  be.  Speak  ;  I  can  bear  it,  be  it  what 
it  may ! " 

"  You  will  have  only  joy  to  bear,  my  friend.  Within 
a  month  you  will  bitterly  regret  your  suspicions  of 
to-night.  You  v/ill  blush  to  think  that  you  ever  imagined 
Mademoiselle  Madeleine  to  have  been  the  mistress  of  a 
man  like  De  Lagors." 

"  But,  sir,  appearances — " 

"  It  is  precisely  against  appearances  that  w^e  must  be  on 
our  guard.  Always  distrust  them.  A  suspicion,  false  or 
just,  is  necessarily  based  on  something.  But  we  must  not 
stay  here  forever;  and  as  Raoul  has  fastened  the  gate, 
we  shall  have  to  climb  over  the  wall." 

"  But  there  is  the  ladder." 

"  Let  it  stay  where  it  is  ;  as  we  cannot  efface  our  foot- 
prints, he  will  think  thieves  have  been  trying  to  get  into 
the  house."  They  scaled  the  wall,  and  had  not  walked 
fifty  steps  when  they  heard  the  noise  of  a  gate  being  un- 
locked. They  stood  aside  and  waited  ;  a  man  soon  passed 
by  on  his  way  to  the  station. 

"That  is  Raoul,"  said  M.  Verduret,  "and  Joseph  will 
report  to  us  that  he  has  been  to  tell  De  Clameran  what 
has  just  taken  place.  If  they  are  only  kind  enough  to 
speak  French  !  "  M.  Verduret  walked  along  quietly  for 
some  time,  trying  to  connect  the  broken  chain  of  his  de- 
ductions.    "  Why  the  deuce,"  he  abruptly  asked,  "did  this 


FILE  NO.  113.  tjt 

Raoul,  who  is  devoted  to  gay  society,  come  to  choose  a 
lonely  country  house  like  this  to  live  in  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  was  because  M.  Fauvel's  villa  is  only  fif- 
teen minutes'  ride  from  here,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine." 

"  That  accounts  for  his  staying  here  in  the  summer ;  but 
in  winter?  " 

"  Oh,  in  winter  he  has  a  room  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre, 
and  all  the  year  round  keeps  up  an  apartment  in 
Paris." 

This  did  not  enlighten  M.  Verduret  much ;  he  hurried 
his  pace.  "  I  hope  our  driver  has  not  gone,"  said  he. 
"  We  cannot  take  the  train  which  is  about  to  start,  as  Raoul 
would  see  us  at  the  station." 

Although  it  was  more  than  an  hour  since  M.  Verduret 
and  Prosper  left  the  cab,  where  the  road  turned  off,  they 
found  it  waiting  for  them  in  front  of  the  tavern. 

The  driver  being  unable  to  resist  the  desire  to  change 
his  bank  note,  had  ordered  supper,  and  finding  the  wine 
very  good,  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave. 

While  delighted  at  the  idea  of  having  a  fare  back  to 
Paris,  he  could  not  refrain  from  remarking  on  M.  Verduret 
and  Prosper's  altered  appearance.  "  Well,  you  are  in  a 
strange  state  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Prosper  replied  that  they  had  been  to  see  a  friend,  and 
losing  their  way,  had  fallen  into  a  quagmire  ;  as  if  there 
were  such  things  in  Vesinet  wood. 

"  So,  that's  the  way  you  got  covered  with  mud,  is  it  !  " 
exclaimed  the  driver,  who,  though  apparently  contented 
with  this  explanation,  strongly  suspected  that  his  two  cus- 
tomers had  been  engaged  in  some  nefarious  transaction. 
This  opinion  seemed  to  be  entertained  by  the  people  pres- 
ent, for  they  looked  at  Prosper's  muddy  clothes  and  then 
at  each  other  in  a  knowing  way. 

But  M.  Verduret  put  an  end  to  all  further  comment  by- 
saying  :  "  Come  on  !  " 

"  All  right,  your  honor :  get  in  while  I  settle  my  bill ; 
I  will  be  with  you  in  a  minute." 

The  drive  back  was  silent  and  seemed  interminably  long. 
Prosper  at  first  tried  to  draw  his  strange  companion  into 
conversation,  but  as  he  received  nothing  but  monosyllables 
in  reply,  he  held  his  peace  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 
He  was  again  beginning  to  feel  irritated  at  the  absolute 
empire   exercised  over  him  by  this  man.      Physical  dis 


132  FILE  NO.  113. 

comfort  was  added  to  his  other  troubles.  He  was  stiff  an^ 
numb  ;  every  bone  in  him  ached  with  the  cold.  Although 
mental  endurance  may  be  unlimited,  bodily  strength  must 
in  the  end  give  way.  A  violent  effort  is  always  followed 
by  reaction. 

Lying  back  in  a  corner  of  the  cab,  with  his  feet  upon 
the  front  seat,  M.  Verduret  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a  nap  ; 
yet  he  was  never  more  wide  awake.  He  was  in  a.  per- 
plexed state  of  mind.  This  expedition  which  he  had  been 
confident  would  solve  all  his  doubts,  had  only  added  mys- 
tery to  mystery.  His  chain  of  evidence,  which  he  thought 
so  strongly  linked,  was  completely  broken.  For  him  the 
facts  remained  the  same,  but  circumstances  had  changed. 
He  could  not  imagine  what  common  motive,  what  moral 
or  material  complicity,  what  influences,  existed  to  cause  the 
four  actors  in  his  drama,  Madame  Fauvel,  Madeleine, 
Raoul,  and  De  Clameran,  to  have  apparently  the  same 
object  in  view.  He  was  seeking,  in  his  fertile  mind,  that 
encyclopaedia  of  craft  and  subtlety,  for  some  combination 
which  would  throw  light  on  the  problem  before  him. 

Midnight  struck  as  they  reached  the  Grand  Archangel, 
and  for  the  first  time  M.  Verduret  remembered  that  he 
had  not  dined.  Fortunately  Madame  Alexandre  was  still 
up,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  had  improvised  a  tempt- 
ing supper.  It  was  more  than  attention,  more  than  re- 
spect, that  she  showed  her  guest.  Prosper  observed  that 
she  gazed  admiringly  at  M.  Verduret  all  the  while  that  he 
was  eating. 

"You  will  not  see  me  during  the  day-time,  to-morrow," 
said  M.  Verduret  to  Prosper,  when  he  had  risen  to  leave 
the  room ;  "  but  I  will  be  here  about  this  time  at  night. 
Perhaps  I  shall  discover  what  I  am  seeking  at  Jandidiers' 
ball." 

Prosper  was  almost  dumb  with  astonishment.  What ! 
would  M.  Verduret  venture  to  appear  at  a  fancy  dress  ball 
given  by  the  wealthiest  and  most  fashionable  bankers  in 
Paris  ?  This  accounted  for  his  sending  to  the  costumier. 
"  Then  you  are  invited  to  this  ball } "  he  presently 
asked. 

The  expressive  eyes  of  M.  Verduret  sparkled  with  amuse* 
ment.     "Not  yet,"  he  said;  "but  I  shall  be." 

Oh,  the  inconsistency  of  the  human  mind  !  Prosper  was 
tormented  by  the  most  serious  reflections.     He   looked 


FILE  NO.   113.  133 

sadly  round  his  chamber,  and  as  he  thought  of  M.  Ver- 
duret's  projected  pleasure  at  the  ball,  exclaimed  :  *'  Ah, 
how  fortunate  he  is !  To-morrow  he  will  see  Madeleine 
more  lovely  than  ever." 


XI. 

AbouT  the  middle  of  the  Rue  St.  Lazare  are  the  almost 
regal  residences  of  the  brothers  Jandidier,  two  celebrated 
financiers,  who,  if  deprived  of  the  prestige  of  immense 
wealth,  would  still  be  looked  up  to  as  remarkable  men. 
Why  cannot  the  same  be  said  of  all  men  ? 

These  two  mansions,  which  were  regarded  as  marvels  of 
magnificence  at  the  time  they  were  built,  are  entirely  dis- 
tinct from  each  other,  but  so  planned  as  to  form  a  single 
building  when  this  is  desired.  When  the  brothers  Jandi- 
dier give  grand  parties,  they  have  the  movable  partitions 
taken  away,  and  thus  obtain  the  most  superb  suite  of  draw- 
ing-rooms in  Paris.  Princely  magnificence,  lavish  hospi- 
tality, and  an  elegant,  graceful  manner  of  receiving  their 
guests,  make  the  entertainments  given  by  the  brothers 
eagerly  sought  after  by  the  fashionable  circles  of  the  cap- 
ital. On  the  Saturday,  the  Rue  St.  Lazare  was  blocked  up 
by  a  file  of  carriages,  whose  fair  occupants  impatiently 
awaited  their  turn  to  alight.  Dancing  commenced  at  ten 
o'clock.  The  ball  was  a  fancy  dress  one,  and  the  majority 
of  the  costumes  were  superb  ;  many  were  in  the  best  taste, 
and  some  were  quite  original.  Among  the  latter  was  that 
of  a  merry-andrew.  Everything  about  the  wearer  was  in 
perfect  keeping :  the  insolent  eye,  coarse  lips,  inflamed 
cheek-bones,  and  a  beard  so  red  that  it  seemed  to  emit 
fire  in  the  reflection  of  the  dazzling  lights. 

He  carried  in  his  left  hand  a  canvas  banner,  upon  which 
were  six  or  eight  coarsely  painted  pictures,  like  those  seen 
at  country  fairs.  In  his  right  he  waved  a  little  switch,  witti 
which  he  would  every  now  and  then  strike  his  banner,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  showman  seeking  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  crowd.  A  compact  group  gathered  round  him  in 
the  expectation  of  hearing  some  witty  speeches ;  but  he 
remained  silent,  near  the  door. 

About  half-past  ten  he  quitted  his  post.  M.  and  Mad- 
ame Fauvel,  followed  by  their  niece  Madeleine,  had  jn^t 


134  P!LE  NO.  113. 

entered.  During  the  last  ten  days,  the  affair  of  the  Rue 
de  Provence  had  been  the  general  topic  of  conversation ; 
and  friends  and  enemies  were  alike  glad  to  seize  this  op- 
portunity of  approaching  the  banker  to  tender  their  sym- 
pathy, or  to  offer  equivocal  condolence,  which  of  all  things 
is  the  most  exasperating  and  insulting. 

Belonging  to  the  class  of  men  of  a  serious  turn,  M. 
Fauvel  had  not  assumed  a  fancy  costume,  but  had  merely 
thrown  over  his  shoulders  a  short  silk  cloak.  On  his  arm 
leaned  Madame  Fauvel,  nee  Valentine  de  La  Verberie, 
bowing  and  gracefully  greeting  her  numerous  friends. 

She  had  once  been  remarkably  beautiful ;  and  to-night, 
in  the  artificial  light  her  very  becoming  dress  seemed  to 
have  restored  all  her  youthful  freshness  and  comeliness. 
No  one  would  have  supposed  her  to  be  forty-eight  years 
old.  She  wore  a  robe  of  embroidered  satin  and  black  vel- 
vet, of  the  later  years  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth's  reign,  mag- 
nificent and  severe,  without  the  adornment  of  a  single 
jewel.  She  looked  superb  and  grand  in  her  court  dress 
and  her  powdered  hair,  as  became  a  La  Verberie,  so  some 
ill-natured  people  remarked,  who  had  made  the  mistake  of 
marrying  a  man  of  money. 

Madeleine,  too,  on  her  part  was  the  object  of  universal 
admiration,  so  dazzlingly  beautiful  and  queen-like  did  she 
appear  in  her  costume  of  maid  of  honor,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  especially  invented  to  set  forth  her  beautiful 
figure.  Her  loveliness  expanded  in  the  perfumed  atmos- 
phere and  dazzling  light  of  the  ball-room.  Never  had  her 
hair  looked  so  brilliant  a  black,  her  complexion  so  exqui- 
site, or  her  large  eyes  so  sparkling.  Having  greeted  their 
hosts,  Madeleine  took  her  aunt's  arm,  while  M.  Fauvel 
wandered  about  in  search  of  the  card-tables,  the  usual  ref- 
uge of  bored  men,  who  find  themselves  enticed  into  a  ball- 
room. 

Dancing  was  now  at  its  height.  Two  orchestras,  led  by 
Strauss  and  one  of  his  lieutenants,  filled  the  saloons  with 
intoxicating  sounds.  The  motley  crowd  whirled  in  the 
waltz,  presenting  a  curious  confusion  of  velvets,  satins, 
laces,  and  diamonds.  Almost  every  head  and  bosom 
sparkled  with  jewels;  the  palest  cheeks  became  rosy; 
heavy  eyes  now  shone  like  stars  ;  and  the  glistening  shoul- 
ders of  fair  women  were  like  drifted  snow  in  an  April 
sun. 

I 


FILE  NO.  113.  l;j 

Forgotten  by  tlie  crowd,  the  merry-andrew  had  take\ 
refuge  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and  seemed  to  b<* 
meditating  upon  the  gay  scene  before  him ;  at  the  sam% 
time,  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  a  couple  not  far  distant.  It 
was  Madeleine,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gorgeously  attired 
doge,  that  attracted  his  gaze,  and  the  doge  was  the  Mar^ 
quis  de  Clameran,  who  appeared  radiant,  rejuvenated,  and 
whose  attentions  to  his  partner  had  an  air  of  triumph.  At 
an  interval  in  the  quadrille,  he  leaned  over  her  and  whis- 
pered compliments  of  unbounded  admiration ;  and  she 
seemed  to  listen,  if  not  with  pleasure,  at  least  without  re- 
pugnance. She  now  and  then  smiled,  and  coquettishly 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Evidently,"  muttered  the  merry-andrew,  "  this  noble 
scoundrel  is  paying  court  to  the  banker's  niece ;  so  I  was 
right  yesterday.  But  how  can  Mademoiselle  Madeleine 
resign  herself  so  graciously  to  his  insipid  flattery  ?  Fortu- 
nately, Prosper  is  not  here  now." 

He  was  interrupted  by  an  elderly  man  wrapped  in  a 
Venetian  mantle,  who  said  to  him  :  "  You  remember,  M. 
Verduret — "  this  name  was  uttered  half  seriously,  half  ban- 
teringly — "what  you  promised  me  ?  " 

The  merry-andrew  bowed  ;vith  great  respect,  but  not  the 
slightest  shade  of  humility.     "  I  remember,"  he  replied. 

"  But  do  not  be  imprudent,  I  beg  you." 

"  Monsieur  the  Count  need  not  be  uneasy  ;  he  has  my 
promise." 

"  Very  good.  I  know  its  value."  The  count  walked 
off ;  but  during  this  short  colloquy  the  quadrille  had  ended, 
and  M.  de  Clameran  and  Madeleine  were  lost  to  sight. 

"  I  shall  find  them  near  Madame  Fauvel,"  thought  the 
merry-andrew.  And  he  at  once  started  in  search  of  the 
banker's  wife. 

Incommoded  by  the  stifling  heat  of  the  room,  Madame 
Fauvel  had  sought  a  little  fresh  air  in  the  grand  picture- 
gallery,  which,  thanks  to  the  talisman  called  gold,  was 
now  transformed  into  a  fairy-like  garden,  filled  with  orange- 
trees,  japonicas,  oleanders,  and  white  lilacs,  the  delicate 
bunches  of  which  hung  in  graceful  clusters.  The  merry- 
andrew  saw  her  seated  near  the  door  of  the  card-room. 
Upon  her  right  was  Madeleine,  and  on  her  left  stood  Raoul 
de  Lagors,  dressed  in  a  costume  of  the  time  of  Henri  III. 

"I  must  confess,"  muttered  the  merry-andrew,  from  his 


136  ^ILE  NO.  113. 

post  of  observation,  "that  the  young  scamp  is  a  hand 
some-looking  fellow. 

Madeleine  appeared  very  sad.  She  had  plucked  a  camel- 
lia from  a  plant  near  by,  and  was  mechanically  pulling  it  to 
pieces  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down.  Raoul  and 
Madame  Fauvel  were  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 
Their  faces  seemed  composed,  but  the  gestures  of  the  one 
and  the  trembling  of  the  other  betrayed  that  a  serious  dis- 
cussion was  taking  place  between  them.  In  the  card-room 
sat  the  doge,  M.  de  Clameran,  so  placed  as  to  have  a  full 
view  of  Madame  Fauvel  and  Madeleine,  although  he  was 
himself  concealed  by  an  angle  of  the  apartment. 

"  It  is  the  continuation  of  yesterday's  scene,"  thought 
the  merry-andrew.  "  If  I  could  only  get  behind  those 
camellias,  I  might  hear  what  they  are  saying."  He  pushed 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  but  just  as  he  had  reached  the 
desired  spot,  Madeleine  rose,  and  taking  the  arm  of  a  be- 
jewelled Persian,  walked  away.  At  the  same  moment 
Raoul  went  into  the  card-room,  and  whispered  a  few  words 
to  De  Clameran. 

"There  they  go,"  muttered  the  merry-andrew.  "The 
pair  of  scoundrels  certainly  hold  these  poor  women  in  their 
power ;  and  it  is  in  vain  that  they  struggle  to  free  them- 
selves.    What  can  be  the  secret  of  their  influence  t " 

Suddenly  a  great  commotion  was  caused  in  the  picture- 
gallery,  by  the  announcement  of  a  wonderful  minuet  to  be 
danced  in  the  grand  saloon ;  then  by  the  arrival  of  the 
Countess  de  Commarin  as  Aurora ;  and  finally,  by  the 
presence  of  the  Princess  Korasolf,  with  her  superb  suite  of 
emeralds,  reported  to  be  the  finest  in  the  world.  In  an  in- 
stant the  gallery  became  almost  deserted.  Only  a  few  for- 
lorn-looking people  remained ;  mostly  sulky  husbands, 
whose  wives  were  dancing  with  partners  they  were  jealous 
of,  and  some  melancholy  youths,  looking  awkward  and 
unhappy  in  their  gay  fancy  dresses.  The  merry-andrew 
thought  the  opportunity  favorable  for  carrying  out  his  de- 
signs. He  abruptly  left  his  corner,  brandishing  his  banner, 
and  tapping  upon  it  with  his  switch,  hammering  affectedly 
dl  the  time,  as  though  about  to  speak.  Having  crossed 
^he  gallery,  he  placed  himself  between  the  chair  occupied 
by  Madame  Fauvel  and  the  door.  As  soon  as  the  people 
left  in  the  gallery  had  collected  in  a  circle  round  him,  he 


FILE  NO.  113.  137 

Struck  a  comical  attitude,  and  in  a  tone  of  great  buffoonery 
proceeded  to  address  them  as  follows  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  morning  I  obtained  a  license 
from  the  authorities  of  this  city.  And  for  what  ?  Why, 
gentlemen,  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  to  you  a  spectacle 
which  has  already  excited  the  admiration  of  the  four 
quarters  of  the  globe,  and  of  several  other  academieso 
Inside  this  booth,  ladies,  is  about  to  commence  the  repre- 
sentation of  a  most  unheard-of  drama,  acted  for  the  first 
time  at  Pekin,  and  translated  by  our  most  famous  authors. 
Gentlemen,  you  can  take  your  seats  at  once ;  the  lamps 
are  lighted,  and  the  actors  are  dressing." 

Here  he  stopped  speaking,  and  imitated  to  perfection 
the  screeching  sounds  which  mountebanks  educe  from  their 
musical  instruments.  "  Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he 
resumed,  ''you  will  wish  to  know  what  I  am  doing  here,  if 
the  piece  is  to  be  performed  inside  the  booth.  The  fact  is, 
gentlemen,  that  I  intend  to  give  you  a  foretaste  of  the  agita- 
tions, sensations,  emotions,  palpitations,  and  other  enter- 
tainments which  you  may  enjoy  for  the  small  sum  of  ten 
sous.  You  see  this  superb  picture  ?  Well,  it  represents 
the  eight  most  thrilling  scenes  in  the  drama.  Ah,  you 
begin  to  shudder  already ;  and  yet  this  is  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  play  itself.  This  splendid  picture  gives 
you  no  more  idea  of  the  actual  performance  than  a  drop  of 
water  gives  an  idea  of  the  sea,  or  a  spark  of  fire  of  the 
sun.  My  picture,  gentlemen,  is  merely  a  foretaste  of  what 
takes  place  inside,  like  the  odors  which  emanate  from  the 
kitchen  of  a  restaurant." 

"  Do  you  know  the  fellow  ?  "  asked  an  enormous  Turk  of 
a  melancholy  Punch. 

"  No,  but  he  iinitates  a  trumpet  splendidly." 

"  Oh,  very  well  indeed  !     But  what  is  he  driving  at  ?  " 

He  was  endeavoring  to  attract  the  attention  of  Madame 
Fauvel,  who,  since  Raoul  and  Madeleine  had  left  her,  had 
abandoned  herself  to  a  mournful  reverie.  He  succeeded 
in  his  object.  His  shrill  voice  brought  the  banker's  wife 
back  to  a  sense  of  reality;  she  started  and  looked  quickly 
about  her,  as  if  suddenly  awakened ;  then  she  turned  to- 
wards the  merry-andrew. 

He,  however,  continued  :  "  Now,  ladies,  we  are  in  China. 
The  first  of  the  eight  pictures  on  my  canvas,  here,  in  the 
left  hand  corner," — here  he  touched  the  top  daub, — "  rep- 


J38  FILE  NO.  113. 

resents  the  celebrated  Mandarin  Li-F6,  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family.  The  pretty  young  lady  leaning  over  him  is  his 
wife  ;  and  the  children  playing  on  the  carpet  are  the  bonds 
of  love  between  this  happy  pair.  Do  you  not  inhale  the 
odor  of  contentment  and  happiness  emanating  from  this 
admirable  picture,  gentlemen?  Madame  Li-F6  is  the 
most  virtuous  of  women,  adoring  her  husband  and  idol- 
izing her  children.  Being  virtuous  she  is  happy,  for  as  the 
wise  Confucius  says,  '  The  ways  of  virtue  are  more  pleasant^ 
than  the  ways  of  vice.'  " 

Madame  Fauvel  had  quitted  her  seat,  and  taken  another 
nearer  to  the  speaker. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  on  the  banner  like  what  he  has 
been  describing  1 "  asked  the  melancholy  Punch  of  his 
neighbor. 

"  No,  nothing.     Do  you  ? " 

The  fact  is,  that  the  daubs  of  paint  on  the  canvas  rep- 
resented nothing  in  particular,  so  that  the  merry-andrew 
could  pretend  they  were  anything  he  pleased. 

"  Picture  No.  2  ! "  he  cried,  after  a  flourish  of  music 
*'  This  old  lady,  seated  before  a  mirror  tearing  out  her  hair, 
— especially  the  gray  ones, — you  have  seen  before  ;  do  you 
recognize  her?  No,  you  do  not.  Well,  she  is  the  fair 
mandarine  of  the  first  picture.  I  see  the  tears  in  your  eyes, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  Ah,  you  have  cause  to  weep ;  for 
she  is  no  longer  virtuous,  and  her  happiness  has  departed 
with  her  virtue.  Alas,  it  is  a  sad  tale  !  One  fatal  day  she 
met  in  a  street  of  Pekin,  a  young  ruffian,  fiendish,  but 
beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  she  loves  him — the  wretched 
woman  loves  him ! " 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  the  most  tragic  tone  as 
he  raised  his  clasped  hands  to  heaven.  During  this  tirade 
he  had  turned  slightly  round,  so  that  he  now  found  himself 
facing  the  banker's  wife,  whose  countenance  he  closely 
watched  while  he  was  speaking. 

''  You  are  surprised,  gentlemen,"  he  continued  ;  "  I  am 
not.  The  great  Bilboquet,  my  master,  has  proved  to  us 
that  the  heart  never  grows  old,  and  that  the  most  vigorous 
wall-flowers  flourish  on  the  oldest  ruins.  This  unhappy 
woman  is  nearly  fifty  years  old — fifty  years  old,  and  in 
love  with  a  youth  !  Hence  this  heart-rending  scene  which 
should  serve  as  a  warning  to  us  all." 

**  Really  1 "  grumbled  a  cook  dressed  in  white  satin,  wha 


FILE  NO.  113.  139 

had  passed  the  evening  distributing  bills  of  fare,  which  no 
one  read,  "  I  thought  he  would  be  more  amusing." 

"  But,"  continued  the  merry-andrew,  "  you  must  go  in- 
side the  booth  to  witness  the  effects  of  the  mandarine's 
folly.  At  times  a  ray  of  reason  penetrates  her  diseased 
brain,  and  then  the  sight  of  her  anguish  would  soften  a 
heart  of  stone.  Enter,  and  for  the  small  sum  of  ten  sous 
you  shall  hear  sobs  such  as  the  Odeon  theatre  never  echoed 
in  its  halcyon  days.  The  unhappy  woman  has  waked  up 
to  the  absurdity  and  inanity  of  her  blind  passion  ;  she  con- 
fesses to  herself  that  she  is  madly  pursuing  a  phantom. 
She  knows  but  too  well  that  he,  in  the  vigor  and  beauty  of 
youth,  cannot  love  a  faded  old  woman  like  herself,  who 
vainly  endeavors  to  retain  the  last  traces  of  her  once  en- 
trancing beautv.  She  feels  that  the  sweet  words  he  once 
w^hispered  in  her  charmed  ear  were  deceitful  falsehoods. 
She  knows  that  the  day  is  near  when  she  will  be  left  alone, 
with  nothing  save  his  mantle  in  her  hand." 

As  the  merry-andrew  addressed  this  voluble  harangue 
to  the  crowd  around  him,  he  narrowly  watched  the  counte- 
nance of  the  banker's  wife.  But  nothing  he  had  said 
seemed  to  affect  her.  She  leaned  back  in  her  arm-chair 
perfectly  calm,  with  the  accustomed  brightness  in  her  eyes 
and  an  occasional  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  muttered  the  merry-andrew  uneasily, 
"  can  I  be  on  the  wrong  tack  ?  "  Preoccupied,  however, 
as  he  was,  he  observed  an  addition  to  his  circle  of  listeners 
in  the  person  of  M.  de  Clameran.  "  The  third  picture," 
said  he,  after  imitating  a  roll  of  drums,  "  depicts  the  old 
mandarine  after  she  has  dismissed  that  most  annoying  of 
guests — remorse — from  her  bosom.  She  promises  herself 
that  interest  will  supply  the  place  of  love  in  chaining  the 
too  seductive  youth  to  her  side.  It  is  with  this  object 
that  she  invests  him  with  false  honors  and  dignity,  and  in- 
troduces him  to  the  chief  mandarins  of  the  capital  of  the 
Celestial  Empire ;  then,  since  so  handsome  a  youth  must 
cut  a  fine  figure  in  society,  and  as  a  fine  figure  cannot  be 
cut  without  money,  the  lady  sacrifices  all  she  possesses  for 
his  sake.  Necklaces,  rings,  bracelets,  diamonds,  and  pearls, 
are  all  surrendered.  The  monster  carries  all  these  jewels 
to  the  pawnbrokers  in  the  Tien-Tsi  Street,  and  then  has 
the  cruelty  to  refuse  her  the  tickets,  by  means  of  which 
she  might  redeem  her  treasures." 


140  FILE  NO.  113. 

The  merry-andrew  thought  that  he  had  at  last  hit  the 
mark.  Madame  Fauvel  began  to  betray  signs  of  agitation. 
Once  she  made  an  attempt  to  rise  from  her  seat  and  to  re- 
tire, but  it  seemed  as  if  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she 
sank  back,  forced  to  listen  to  the  end. 

"  Finally,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued  the  merry- 
andrew,  "  the  richly  filled  jewel-cases  became  empty.  The 
day  arrived  when  the  mandarine  had  nothing  more  to  give. 
It  was  then  that  the  young  scoundrel  conceived  the  project 
of  carrying  off  the  jasper  button  belonging  to  the  mandarin 
Li-F6 — a  splendid  jewel  of  incalculable  value,  which,  being 
the  badge  of  his  dignity,  was  kept  in  a  granite  stronghold, 
and  guarded  by  three  soldiers  night  and  day.  Ah !  the 
mandarine  resisted  for  a  long  time  !  She  knew  the  inno- 
cent soldiers  would  be  accused  and  crucified,  as  is  the 
custom  in  Pekin ,  and  this  thought  restrained  her.  But 
her  lover  besought  her  so  tenderly,  that  she  finally  yielded 
to  his  entreaties;  and — the  jasper  button  was  stolen. 
The  fourth  picture  represents  the  guilty  couple  stealthily 
creeping  down  the  private  staircase  :  see  their  frightened 
looks — see — " 

The  merry-andrew  abruptly  stopped.  Three  or  four  of 
his  auditors  rushed  to  the  assistance  of  Madame  Fauvel, 
who  seemed  about  to  faint ;  and  at  the  same  moment  he 
felt  his  arm  roughly  seized  by  some  one  behind  him.  He 
turned  round  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  M.  de 
Clameran  and  Raoul  de  Lagors,  both  of  whom  were  pale 
with  anger. 

"  What  do  you  require,  gentlemen  ? "  he  asked  politely. 

"  To  speak  with  you,"  they  answered  in. a  breath. 

"  I  am  at  your  service."  And  he  followed  them  to  the 
end  of  the  picture-gallery,  near  a  window  opening  on  to  a 
balcony.  Here  they  were  unobserved  except  by  the  man 
in  the  Venetian  cloak,  whom  the  merry-andrew  has  so  re- 
spectfully addressed  as  "  Monsieur  the  Count."  The  min- 
uet having  ended,  the  musicians  were  resting,  and  the 
crowd  began  rapidly  to  fill  the  gallery.  Madame  Fauvel's 
sudden  faintness  had  passed  off  unnoticed  save  by  a  few, 
who  attributed  it  to  the  heat  of  the  room.  M.  Fauvel  had 
been  sent  for ;  but  when  he  came  hurrying  in,  and  found 
his  wife  composedly  talking  to  Madeleine,  his  alarm  was 
dissipated,  and  he  returned  to  the  card-tables. 

Not  having  as  much  control  oyer  his  temper  as  RaouJ 


FILE  NO.  113.  141 

M.  de  Clameran  angrily  remark«d  to  the  merry-andrew : 
"  In  the  first  place,  sir,  I  should  like  to  know  who  I  am 
speaking  to." 

The  merry-andrew,  determined  to  answer  as  if  he  thought 
the  question  were  a  jest,  replied  in  the  bantering  tone  of 
a  buffoon  :  "  You  want  my  passport,  do  you,  my  lord  doge  ? 
I  left  it  in  the  hands  of  the  city  authorities  ;  it  contains 
my  name,  age,  profession,  domicile,  and  every  detail." 

With  an  angry  gesture,  M.  de  Clameran  interrupted  him. 
*'  You  have  just  committed  a  most  vile  action  !  " 

"  I,  my  lord  doge  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you !  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  abominable 
story  you  have  been  relating  ?  " 

"  Abominable  !  You  may  say  so,  if  you  like  ;  but  I,  who 
composed  it,  entertain  a  different  opinion." 

"  Enough,  sir ;  you  might  at  least  have  the  courage  to 
acknowledge  that  your  allusions  conveyed  a  vile  insinua- 
tion against  Madame  Fauvel." 

The  merry-andrew  stood  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and 
mouth  wide  open,  as  if  astounded  at  what  he  heard.  But 
any  one  who  knew  him  would  have  detected  his  bright 
black  eyes  sparkling  with  malicious  satisfaction. 

"  Bless  my  heart !  "  he  cried,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 
"  This  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of !  How  can 
my  drama  of  the  Mandarine  Li-Fo,  have  any  reference  to 
Madame  Fauvel,  whom  I  don't  know  from  Adam  or  Eve  ? 
I  can't  think  how  the  resemblance — unless — but  no,  that 
is  impossible." 

"  Do  you  pretend,"  said  M.  de  Clameran,  "  to  be  igno- 
rant of  M.  Fauvel's  misfortune  ? " 

The  merry-andrew  looked  very  innocent,  and  asked: 
**  A  misfortune  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  robbery  of  which  M.  Fauvel  is  the  victim. 
It  is  in  every  one's  mouth,  and  you  must  have  heard  of 
it." 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes ;  I  remember.  His  cashier  has  run  off 
with  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs.  Gracious 
me  !  It  is  a  thing  that  almost  happens  daily.  But,  as  to 
discovering  any  connection  between  this  robbery  and  my 
story,  that  is  quite  another  matter." 

M.  de  Clameran  did  not  hasten  to  reply.  A  nudge 
from  De  Lagors  had  calmed  him  as  if  by  enchantment. 
He  looked  suspiciously  at  the  mountebank,  and  seemed  to 


143  FILE  NO.  113. 

regret  having  uttered  the  significant  words  forced  from 
him  by  angry  excitement.  "  Very  well,"  he  finally  said 
in  his  usual  haughty  tone  ;  "  I  must  have  been  mistaken, 
I  accept  your  explanation." 

But  the  merry-andrew,  hitherto  so  humble  and  foolish- 
looking,  seemed  to  take  offence  at  the  last  word,  and  as- 
suming a  defiant  attitude,  exclaimed  :  "  I  have  not  given. 
nor  had  I  to  give,  any  explanation." 

"  Sir  !  "  began  De  Clameran. 

"  Allow  me  to  finish,  if  you  please.  If,  unintentionally, 
I  have  offended  the  wife  of  a  man  whom  I  highly  esteem, 
it  is,  I  fancy,  his  business  to  seek  redress,  and  not  yours. 
Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  he  is  too  old  to  demand  satisfac- 
tion, very  likely  ;  but  he  has  sons,  and  I  have  just  seen 
one  of  them  here.  You  ask  who  I  am  ;  in  return  I  ask  you 
who  are  you — you  who  undertake  to  act  as  Madame  Fauvel's 
champion  ?  Are  you  her  relative,  friend,  or  ally?  What 
right  have  you  to  insult  her  by  pretending  to  discover  an 
allusion  to  her  in  a  story  invented  for  amusement }  " 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said  in  reply  to  this.  M.  de 
Clameran  sought  a  means  of  evading  a  complete  answer. 
"  I  am  a  friend  of  M.  Fauvel's,"  he  said,  "  and  this  title 
gives  me  the  right  to  be  as  jealous  of  his  reputation  as  if 
it  were  my  own.  If  you  do  not  think  this  a  sufficient  rea- 
son for  my  interference,  I  must  inform  you  that  his  family 
will  shortly  be  mine." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"Next  week,  sir,  my  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Mad- 
eleine will  be  publicly  announced." 

This  news  was  so  unexpected,  so  strange,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment the  merry-andrew  was  fairly  astounded.  But  he  soon 
recovered  himself,  and  bowing  with  deference,  said,  with 
covert  irony  :  "  Permit  me  to  offer  you  my  congratulations^ 
sir.  Besides  being  the  belle  of  to-night's  ball.  Mademoi- 
selle Madeleine  is  worth,  I  hear,  half  a  million." 

Raoul  de  Lagors  had  anxiously  been  watching  the  peo- 
ple near  them,  to  see  if  they  overheard  this  conversation. 
*'  We  have  had  enough  of  this  gossip,"  he  said,  in  a  dis- 
dainful tone  ;  "  I  will  only  say  one  thing  to  you,  my  fine 
fellow,  and  that  is,  your  tongue  is  too  long." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  my  pretty  youth,  perhaps  it  is  ;  but  my 
arm  is  still  longer." 

De  Clameran  here  interrupted  them  by  exclaiming' 


flLE  NO.  113.  143 

"  It  is  impossible  to  have  an  explanation  with  a  man  who 
conceals  his  identity  under  the  guise  of  a  fool." 

"  You  are  at  liberty,  my  lord  doge,  to  ask  the  master  of 
the  house  who  I  am — if  you  dare." 

"  You  are,"  cried  Clameran,  "you  are — "  A  warning 
look  from  Raoul  checked  the  noble  iron-founder  from  us- 
ing an  epithet  which  might  have  led  to  an  affray,  or  at 
least  a  scandalous  scene. 

The  merry-andrew  stood  by  with  a  sardonic  smile,  and, 
after  a  moment's  silence,  stared  M.  de  Clameran  steadily 
in  the  face,  and  in  measured  tones  said  :  "  I  was  the  best 
friend,  sir,  that  your  dead  brother  Gaston  ever  had.  I 
was  his  adviser,  and  the  confidant  of  his  last  hopes." 

These  words  came  like  a  clap  of  thunder  on  De  Cla- 
meran, who  turned  deadly  pale,  and  started  back  with  his 
hands  stretched  out  before  him,  as  if  shrinking  from  a 
phantom.  He  tried  to  answer,  to  protest,  to  say  some- 
thing, but  terror  froze  the  words  upon  his  tongue. 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  said  De  Lagors,  who  had  remained 
perfectly  self-possessed.  And  he  dragged  De  Clameran 
away,  half  supporting  him,  for  he  staggered  like  a  drunken 
man,  and  clung  to  every  object  he  passed,  to  prevent  him- 
self from  falling. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  merry-andrew,  in  three 
different  tones.  He  was  almost  as  much  astonished  as 
the  forge-master,  and  remained  rooted  to  the  spot,  watch- 
ing the  latter  as  he  slowly  left  the  room.  It  was  with  no 
decided  object  in  view  that  the  merry-andrew  had  ventured 
to  use  the  last  mysteriously  threatening  words,  but  he  had 
been  inspired  to  do  so  by  his  wonderful  instinct,  which 
with  him  was  like  the  scent  of  a  bloodhound.  ''What  can 
this  mean  }  "  he  murmured.  "  Why  was  he  so  frightened  .<* 
What  terrible  memory  have  I  awakened  in  his  base  soul  ? 
I  need  not  boast  of  my  penetration,  or  the  subtlety  of  my 
plans.  There  is  a  great  master,  who,  without  any  effort, 
in  an  instant  destroys  all  our  chimeras ;  he  is  called 
*  Chance.'  " 

His  mind  had  wandered  far  from  the  present  scene, 
,vhen  he  was  brought  back,  to  his  situation  by  some  one 
touching  him  on  the  shoulder.  It  was  the  man  in  the  Ve- 
netian cloak.  "  Are  you  satisfied,  M.  Verduret .''  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes  and  no,  Monsieur  the  Count.     No,  because  I  have 


/44  FILE  NO.  113. 

not  completely  achieved  the  object  I  had  in  view  when  I 
asked  you  to  obtain  an  invitation  for  me  here  to-night  ; 
yes,  because  these  two  rascals  behaved  in  a  manner  which 
dispels  all  doubt." 

"  And  yet  you  complain — " 

"  I  do  not  complain,  sir ;  on  the  contrary,  I  bless 
chance,  or  rather  Providence,  which  has  just  revealed  to 
me  the  existence  of  a  secret  that  I  did  not  before  even 
suspect." 

Five  or  six  people  approached  the  count,  and  he  went 
off  with  them  after  giving  M.  Verduret  a  friendly  nod. 
The  latter  instantly  threw  aside  his  banner,  and  started 
in  pursuit  of  Madame  Fauvel.  He  found  her  sitting  on  a 
sofa,  in  the  ball-room,  engaged  in  an  animated  conversa- 
tion with  Madeleine.  "  Of  course  they  are  talking  over  the 
scene ;  but  what  has  become  of  De  Lagors  and  De  Cla- 
meran  .?  "  thought  he.  He  soon  caught  sight  of  them  wan- 
dering among  the  groups  scattered  about  the  room,  and 
eagerly  asking  questions.  "  I  will  bet  my  head,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  these  honorable  gentlemen  are  trying  to  find  out 
who  I  am.     Ask  away,  my  friends,  ask  away !  " 

They  soon  gave  over  their  inquiries,  but  were  so  pre- 
occupied, and  anxious  to  be  alone  in  order  to  reflect  and 
deliberate,  that,  without  waiting  for  the  supper,  they  took 
leave  of  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece,  saying  they 
were  going  home.  The  merry-andrew  saw  them  enter  the 
cloak-room  to  fetch  their  cloaks :  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes they  left  the  house.  "  I  have  nothing  more  to 
do  here,"  he  murmured  ;  "  I  may  as  well  go  too." 

Completely  covering  his  dress  with  an  ample  overcoat, 
he  started  for  home,  thinking  the  cold  frosty  air  would 
cool  his  confused  brain.  He  lit  a  cigar  and,  walking  up 
the  Rue  St.  Lazare,  crossed  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lo- 
rette,  and  struck  into  the  Faubourg  Montmartre.  A  man 
suddenly  darted  out  from  some  place  of  concealment,  and 
rushed  upon  him  with  a  dagger.  Fortunately  the  merry- 
andrew  had  a  cat-like  instinct,  which  enabled  him  to  pro- 
tect himself  against  immediate  danger,  and  detect  any 
harm  which  threatened.  He  saw,  or  rather  divined,  the 
man  crouching  in  the  dark  shadow  of  a  house,  and  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  step  back  and  spread  out  his  arms  be- 
fore him,  and  so  ward  off  the  would-be  assassin.  This 
movement  certainly  saved  his  life ;  for  he  received  in  the 


FILE  NO.  113.  145 

arm  a  furious  stab,  which  would  have  instantly  killed  him 
had  it  penetrated  his  breast.  Anger,  more  than  pain, 
made  him  exclaim  :  "  Ah,  you  villain  !  "  And  recoiling 
a  few  feet,  he  put  himself  on  the  defensive.  The  precau- 
tion, however,  was  useless ;  for  seeing  his  blow  miss  the 
mark,  the  assassin  did  not  return  to  the  attack,  but  made 
rapidly  off. 

"  That  was  certainly  De  Lagors,"  thought  the  merry- 
andrew,  "and  De  Clameran  must  be  somewhere  near. 
While  I  walked  round  one  side  of  the  church,  they  must 
have  gone  the  other  and  lain  in  wait  for  me." 

His  wound  began  to  pain  him  very  much,  and  he  stood 
under  a  gas-lamp  to  examine  it.  It  did  not  appear  to  be 
dangerous,  although  the  arm  was  cut  through  to  the  bone. 
He  tore  his  handkerchief  into  four  bands,  and  tied  his  arm 
up  with  them  with  the  dexterity  of  a  surgeon.  "  I  must  be 
on  the  track  of  some  great  crime,"  said  he,  "  since  these 
fellows  are  resolved  upon  murder.  When  such  cunning 
rogues  are  only  in  danger  of  the  police  court,  they  do  not 
gratuitously  risk  the  chance  of  being  tried  for  murder." 
He  thought  that  by  enduring  a  great  deal  of  pain  he  might 
still  use  his  arm,  so  he  started  in  pursuit  of  his  enemy, 
taking  care  to  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  to  avoid 
all  dark  corners.  Although  he  saw  no  one,  he  was  con- 
vinced that  he  was  being  followed.  He  was  not  mistaken. 
When  he  reached  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  he  crossed 
the  street,  and,  as  he  did  so,  distinguished  two  shadows 
which  he  recognized.  They  also  crossed  the  street  a  little 
higher  up. 

"  I  have  to  deal  wdth  desperate  men,"  he  muttered. 
"They  do  not  even  take  the  pains  to  conceal  their  pursuit 
of  me.  They  seem  to  be  accustomed  to  this  kind  of  ad- 
venture, and  the  carriage  trick  which  fooled  Fanferlot 
would  never  succeed  with  them.  Besides,  my  light  hat  is 
a  perfect  beacon  to  lead  them  on  in  the  night."  He  con- 
tinued his  way  up  the  boulevard,  and,  without  turning  his 
head,  felt  sure  that  his  enemies  were  not  more  than  thirty 
paces  behind  him.  "  I  must  get  rid  of  them  somehow,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  I  can  neither  return  home  nor  to  the 
Grand  Archangel  with  these  devils  at  my  heels.  They  are 
following  me  now  to  find  out  where  I  live,  and  who  I  am. 
If  they  discover  the  merry-andrew  is  M.  Verduret,  and  that 
M.  Verduret  is  M.  Lecoq,  my  plans  will  be  ruined.  They 
10 


1^6  PTLE  NO.  113. 

will  esiscape  abroad  with  the  money,  and  I  shall  be  left  to 
console  myself  with  a  wounded  arm.  A  pleasant  ending 
to  all  my  exertions  ! " 

The  idea  of  Raoul  and  De  Clameran  escaping  him  so 
exasperated  him  that  for  an  instant  he  thought  of  having 
them  arrested  at  once.  This  was  easy  enough,  for  he  only 
had  to  rush  upon  them,  shout  for  help,  and  they  would  all 
three  be  arrested,  conducted  to  the  police-station  and 
brought  before  the  commissary.  The  police  often  resort 
to  this  ingenious  and  simple  means  to  arrest  a  criminal 
whom  they  may  meet  by  chance,  and  whom  they  cannot 
seize  without  a  warrant.  The  merry-andrew  had  sufficient 
proof  to  sustain  him  in  the  arrest  of  De  Lagors.  He  could 
produce  the  letter  and  the  mutilated  prayer-book,  he  could 
reveal  the  existence  of  the  pawnbroker's  tickets  in  the 
house  at  Vesinet,  he  could  show  his  wounded  arm.  He 
could,  if  necessary,  force  Raoul  to  confess  how  and  why 
he  had  assumed  the  name  of  De  Lagors,  and  what  his  mo- 
tive was  in  passing  himself  off  as  a  relative  of  M.  Fauvel. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  acting  thus  hastily,  he  would  be,  per- 
haps, insuring  the  safety  of  the  principal  plotter,  De  Cla- 
meran. What  absolute  proofs  had  he  against  him  t  Not 
one.  He  had  strong  suspicions,  but  no  real  grounds  for 
making  any  criminal  charge.  On  reflection,  the  detec- 
tive decided  tnat  he  would  act  alone,  as  he  had  thus  far 
done,  and  that  alone  and  unaided  he  would  discover  the 
truth  of  his  suspicions. 

Having  arrived  at  this  decision,  the  first  step  to  be  taken 
was  to  put  his  pursuers  on  the  wrong  scent.  He  walked 
rapidly  along  the  Boulevard  Sebastopol,  and,  reaching  the 
square  of  the  Arts  et  Metiers,  he  abruptly  stopped,  and 
asked  some  insignificant  questions  of  two  policemen,  who 
were  standing  talking  together.  This  manoeuvre  had  the 
result  he  expected ;  Raoul  and  De  Clameran  stood  per- 
fectly still  about  twenty  steps  off,  not  daring  to  advance. 
While  talking  with  the  constables,  the  merry-andrew  pulled 
the  bell  of  the  door  before  which  they  were  standing,  and 
the  sound  that  ensued  apprised  him  that  the  door  was  open. 
He  bowed,  and  entered  the  house. 

A  minute  later  the  constables  had  passed  on,  and  De 
Lagors  and  De  Clameran  in  their  turn  rang  the  bell.  When 
the  door  was  opened,  they  roused  up  the  concierge  and 
asked  who  it  was  that  had  just  gone  in  disguised  as  a  merry* 


FILE  NO.  113.  147 

andrew.  They  were  told  that  he  had  seen  no  such  person, 
and  that  none  of  the  lodgers  had  gone  out  in  fancy  cos- 
tume that  night.  "  However,"  added  the  man,  "  I  am  not 
perfectly  sure,  for  this  house  has  another  door  which  opens 
on  the  Rue  St.  Denis." 

"  We  are  tricked,"  interrupted  De  Lagors,  "  and  will 
never  know  who  this  merry-andrew  is." 

"  Unless  we  learn  it  too  soon  for  our  own  advantage," 
said  De  Clameran  musingly. 

While  the  pair  were  lamenting  their  failure  in  discover- 
ing the  merry-andrew's  identity,  Verduret  hurried  along 
and  reached  the  Grand  Archangel  as  the  clock  struck 
three.  Prosper,  who  was  watching  from  his  window,  saw 
him  in  the  distance,  and  ran  down  to  open  the  door  for  him. 
*'  What  have  you  learned  ? "  he  asked  :  "  what  did  you  find 
out  .-*  Did  you  see  Madeleine  ?  Were  Raoul  and  De 
Clameran  at  the  ball  ?  " 

But  M.  Verduret  was  not  in  the  habit  of  discussing  pri- 
vate affairs  where  he  might  be  overheard.  "  First  of  all, 
let  us  go  into  your  room,"  said  he,  "  and  then  get  me  some 
water  to  wash  this  cut,  which  burns  like  fire." 

"  Heavens  !     Are  you  wounded  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  little  souvenir  of  your  friend  Raoul.  Ah,  I 
will  soon  teach  him  the  danger  of  scratching  my  skin  !  " 
Prosper  was  surprised  at  the  look  of  merciless  rage  on  his 
friend's  face,  as  he  calmly  washed  and  dressed  his  arm. 
"  Now,  Prosper,  we  will  talk  as  much  as  you  please,"  re- 
sumed M.  Verduret.  "  Our  enemies  are  on  the  alert,  and 
we  must  crush  them  instantly.  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
I  have  been  on  the  wrong  track ;  it  is  an  accident  liable 
to  happen  to  any  man,  no  matter  how  intelligent  he  maybe. 
I  took  the  effect  for  the  cause.  The  day  I  was  convinced 
that  culpable  relations  existed  between  Raoul  and  Mad- 
ame Fauvel,  I  thought  I  held  the  end  of  the  thread  that 
would  lead  us  to  the  truth.  I  ought  to  have  been  more 
mistrustful ;  this  solution  was  too  simple,  too  natural." 

"  Do  you  suppose  Madame  Fauvel  to  be  innocent  ?  " 

*'  Certainly  not ;  but  her  guilt  is  not  such  as  I  first  sup- 
posed. I  imagined  that,  infatuated  with  a  seductive  young 
adventurer,  Madame  Fauvel  had  bestowed  upon  him  the 
name  of  one  of  her  relatives,  and  then  introduced  him  to 
her  husband  as  her  nephew.  This  was  an  adroit  stratagem 
to  gain  him  admission  to  the  house.     She  began  by  giving 


148  FILE  NO.  113. 

him  all  the  money  she  could  dispose  of ;  then  she  let  him 
have  her  jewels  to  pawn  ;  and  at  length  having  nothing 
more  to  give,  she  allowed  him  to  steal  ihe  money  from  her 
husband's  safe.     That  is  what  I  first  thought." 

"  And  in  this  way  everything  was  explained  ?  " 

"  No,  this  did  not  explain  everything,  as  I  well  knew  at 
the  time,  and  should,  consequently,  have  studied  my  char- 
acters more  thoroughly.  How  is  De  Clameran's  ascend- 
ency to  be  accounted  for,  if  my  first  idea  was  the  correct 
one  ?  " 

"  De  Clameran  is  De  Lagors's  accomplice,  of  course." 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  mistake  !  I  for  a  long  time  believed 
De  Lagors  to  be  the  person  principally  concerned,  where- 
as, in  fact,  he  is  nothing.  Yesterday,  in  a  dispute  between 
them,  the  forge-master  said  to  him,  'And,  above  all,  my 
young  friend,  I  would  advise  you  not  to  resist  me,  for  if 
you  do  I  will  crush  you  to  atoms.'  That  explains  all.  The 
elegant  De  Lagors  is  not  Madame  Fauvel's  lover,  but  De 
Clameran's  tool.  Besides,  did  our  first  suppositions  ac- 
count for  Madeleine's  resigned  obedience  .'*  It  is  De 
Clameran,  and  not  De  Lagors,  whom  she  obeys." 

Prosper  began  to  remonstrate.  M.  Verduret  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  To  convince  him  he  had  only  to  tell  him 
that  three  hours  ago  De  Clameran  had  announced  his  ap- 
proaching marriage  with  Madeleine  ;  but  he  refrained  from 
doing  so.  "  De  Clameran,"  he  continued,  "  De  Clameran 
alone  has  Madame  Fauvel  in  his  power.  Now,  the  ques- 
tion is,  what  is  the  secret  of  this  terrible  influence  he  has 
gained  over  her?  I  have  positive  proof  that  they  have 
not  met  since  their  early  youth  until  fifteen  months  ago  ,- 
and,  as  Madame  Fauvel's  reputation  has  always  been 
above  the  reach  of  slander,  we  must  seek  in  the  past  for 
the  cause  of  her  resigned  obedience  to  his  will." 

"  We  shall  never  discover  it,"  said  Prosper  mourn- 
fully. 

"  We  shall  know  it  as  soon  as  we  have  learnt  the  history 
of  De  Clameran's  past  life.  Ah,  to-night  he  turned  as 
white  as  a  sheet  when  I  mentioned  his  brother  Gaston's 
name.  And  then  I  remembered  that  Gaston  died 
suddenly,  while  his  brother  Louis  was  on  a  visit  to 
him.'' 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  murdered  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  men  who  tried  to  assassinate  me  would  do 


FILE  NO.  113.  M9 

anything.  The  robbery,  my  friend,  has  now  become  a 
secondary  affair.  It  is  easily  explained,  and,  if  that  were 
all  that  hajd  to  be  accounted  for,  I  would  say  to  you  ;  *  My 
task  is  done,  let  us  go  and  ask  the  investigating  magistrate 
for  a  warrant  of  arrest.'  " 

Prosper  started  up  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  exclaimed  .- 
"  What,  you  know  then — is  it  possible  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  know  who  gave  the  key,  and  I  know  who  told 
the  secret  word." 

"  The  key  may  have  been  M.  Fauvel's.  But  the 
word — " 

"  The  word,  unlucky  man,  you  gave  yourself.  You  have 
forgotten,  I  suppose.  But,  fortunately,  Nina  remembered. 
You  know  that  a  couple  of  days  before  the  robbery,  you 
took  De  Lagors  and  two  other  friends  to  sup  with  Madame 
Gipsy  ?  Nina  was  sad,  and  reproached  you  for  not  being 
more  devoted  to  her." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that." 

"  But  do  you  remember  what  you  replied  to  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  Prosper,  after  thinkmg  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  ;  you  said  :  '  Nina,  you  are  unjust 
in  reproaching  me  with  not  thinking  constantly  of  you, 
for  at  this  very  moment  it  is  your  dear  name  that  guards 
my  employer's  safe.' " 

The  truth  suddenly  burst  upon  Prosper  like  a  thunder- 
clap. He  wrung  his  hands  despairingly  and  exclaimed  : 
"  Yes,  O  yes  !     I  remember  now." 

"  Then  you  can  easily  understand  the  rest.  One  of  the 
scoundrels  went  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  compelled  her 
to  give  up  her  husband's  key ;  then,  at  a  venture,  he 
placed  the  movable  buttons  on  the  name  of  Gipsy,  opened 
the  safe,  and  took  from  it  the  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs.  And  Madame  Fauvel  must  have  been 
terribly  frightened  before  she  yielded.  The  day  after  the 
robbery  the  poor  woman  was  near  dying;  and  it -was  she 
who  at  the  greatest  risk  sent  you  the  ten  thousand 
francs." 

"  But  who  was  the  thief,  Raoul  or  De  Clameran  ? 
What  enables  them  .0  thus  tyrannize  over  Madame  Fauvel  ? 
And  how  does  Madeleine  come  to  be  mixed  up  in  this 
disgraceful  affair  ?  " 

"These  questions,  my  dear  Prosper,  I  cannot  yet  an* 


150  FILE  NO,  113. 

swer ;  therefore  I  postpone  going  to  see  the  magistrate. 
1  must  ask  you  to  wait  ten  days  ;  and,  if  in  that  time  I 
cannot  discover  the  solution  of  this  mystery,  I  will  returrx, 
and  we  will  go  together  to  M.  Patrigent." 

"  Are  you  then  going  away  ?  " 

"  In  an  hour  I  shall  be  on  the  road  to  Beaucaire.  It  was 
from  that  neighborhood  that  De  Clameran  came,  as  well 
as  Madame  Fauvel,  who  was  a  Mademoiselle  de  La  Ver- 
berie  before  her  marriage." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  both  families." 

"I  must  go  there  to  study  them.  Neither  Raoul  nor  De 
Clameran  can  escape  during  my  absence.  The  police 
will  not  lose  sight  of  them.  But  you.  Prosper,  must  be 
prudent.  Promise  me  to  remain  a  prisoner  here  whilst  I 
am  away." 

All  that  M.  Verduret  asked,  Prosper  willingly  promised. 
But  he  could  not  let  him  depart  thus.  "Will  you  not  tell 
me,  sir,"  he  asked,  "  who  you  are,  and  your  reasons  for 
coming  to  my  assistance  ?  " 

M.  Verduret  smiled  sadly,  and  replied  :  "  I  will  tell  you 
in  the  presence  of  Nina,  on  the  day  before  your  marriage 
with  Madeleine  takes  place." 

Once  left  X.c  his  own  reflections.  Prosper  began  to  ap- 
preciate the  powerful  assistance  rendered  him  by  bis 
friend.  Recalling  the  field  of  investigation  gone  over  by 
his  mysterious  acquaintance,  he  was  amazed  at  its  extent. 
How  many  facts  had  been  discovered  in  a  week,  and  with 
what  precision,  too,  although  he  had  stated  he  was  on 
the  wrong  track !  Verduret  had  grouped  his  evidence, 
and  reached  a  result  which  Prosper  felt  he  never  could 
have  hoped  to  have  attained  by  his  own  exertions.  He 
was  conscious  that  he  possessed  neither  M.  Verduret's 
penetration  nor  his  subtlety,  still  less  the  art  of  exacting 
obedience,  of  creating  friends  at  every  step,  and  of  mak- 
ing men  and  circumstances  conduce  to  the  attainment  of 
a  common  result.  He  soon  began  to  regret  the  absence 
of  this  friend,  who  had  risen  up  in  the  hour  of  adversity. 
He  missed  the  sometimes  rough  but  always  kindly  voice, 
which  had  encouraged  and  consoled  him.  He  felt  wofully 
lost  and  helpless,  not  daring  to  act  or  think  for  himself, 
more  timid  than  a  child  when  deserted  by  its  nurse.  He 
had  at  least  the  good  sense  to  follow  the  recommendations 
af  his  mentor.     He  remained  shut  up  at  the  Grand  Arch' 


FILE  NO.  iiy  151 

angel,  not  even  showing  himself  at  the  windows.  Twice 
he  had  news  of  M.  Verduret.  The  first  time  he  received 
a  letter  in  which  this  friend  said  he  had  seen  his  father, 
and  had  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  Afterwards,  Dubois, 
M.  De  Clameran's  valet,  came  to  tell  him  that  his  "chie<^" 
reported  everything  as  progressing  finely.  On  the  ninth 
day  of  his  voluntary  seclusion,  Prosper  began  to  feel  restless, 
and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  wished  to  go  for  a  walk,  think- 
inji  the  fresh  air  would  relieve  the  headache  which  had 
kept  him  awake  the  previous  night.  Madame  Alexandre, 
who  seemed  to  have  some  knowledge  of  M.  Verduret's  af- 
fairs, begged  Prosper  to  remain  at  home. 

"  What  do  I  risk  by  taking  a  walk  at  this  hour,  in  a  quiet 
part  of  the  city  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  can  certainly  stroll  as  far 
as  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  without  the  chance  of  meeting 
any  one." 

Unfortunately  he  did  not  strictly  follow  this  programme  ; 
for,  having  reached  the  Orleans  railway  station,  he  went 
into  a  cafe  near  by,  and  called  for  a  glass  of  beer.  As  he 
sat  drinking  it,  he  glanced  at  a  daily  paper,  "  Le  Soleil," 
and  under  the  heading  of  "  Rumors  of  the  Day,"  read 
the  following  paragraph  :  "  We  understand  that  the  niece 
of  one  of  our  most  prominent  bankers,  M.  Andre  Fauvel, 
will  be  shortly  married  to  the  Marquis  Louis  de  Clameran, 
a  Provencal  nobleman."  This  news,  coming  upon  him  so 
unexpectedly,  proved  to  Prosper  the  justness  of  M.  Ver- 
duret's calculatiorts.  Alas !  why  did  not  this  certainty 
inspire  him  with  absolute  faith  ?  Why  did  it  not  give  him 
the  courage  to  wait,  the  strength  of  mind  to  refrain  from  act- 
ing on  his  own  responsibility.  P'renzied  by  distress  of 
mind,  he  already  saw  Madeleine  indissolubly  united  to  this 
villain,  and,  thinking  that  M.  Verduret  would  perhaps  ar- 
rive too  late  to  be  of  use,  determined  at  all  risks  to  throw 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  marriage.  He  called  for  pen 
and  paper,  and,  forgetting  that  no  situation  can  excuse 
the  mean  cowardice  of  an  anonymous  letter,  wrote  in  a  dis- 
guised hand  the  following  lines  to  M.  Fauvel  : 

"  Dear  Sir, — You  consigned  your  cashier  to  prison  ;  you 
acted  rightly,  since  you  were  convinced  of  his  dishonesty 
and  faithlessness.  But,  even  if  he  stole  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  from  your  safe,  does  it  follow 
that  he  also  stole  Madam  Fauvel's  diamonds,  and  took 


152  FILE  NO,  113. 

them  to  the  pawnbroker's  where  they  now  are  ?  Warned 
as  you  are,  were  I  you,  I  would  not  be  the  subject  of  pub- 
lic scandal,  but  I  would  watch  my  wife,  and  would  soon 
discover  that  one  should  ever  be  distrustful  of  handsome 
cousins.  Moreover,  before  signing  Mademoiselle  Made- 
leine's marriage  contract,  I  would  call  at  the  Prefecture  of 
Police,  and  obtain  some  information  concerning  the  noble 
Marquis  de  Clameran. — A  Friend." 

Prosper  hastened  off  to  post  his  letter.  Fearing  that  it 
would  not  reach  M.  Fauvel  in  time,  he  walked  to  one  of 
the  head  offices  in  the  Rue  Cardinal  Lemoine,  and  put  it 
into  the  letter-box.  Until  this  moment  he  had  not  doubted 
the  propriety  of  his  action.  But  now,  when  too  late,  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  his  letter  falling  into  the  box,  a 
thousand  scruples  filled  his  mind.  Was  it  not  wrong  to 
act  thus  hurriedly  .''  Would  not  this  letter  interfere  with 
all  M.  Verduret's  plans  ?  Upon  reachmg  the  hotel,  his 
doubts  were  changed  into  bitter  regrets.  Joseph  Dubois 
was  waiting  for  him  ;  he  had  received  a  telegram  from  his 
chief  saying  that  his  business  was  finished,  and  that  he 
would  return  the  next  evening  at  nine  o'clock.  Prosper 
was  wretched.  He  would  have  given  all  he  had  to  recover 
the  anonymous  letter.  And  he  had  cause  for  regret.  For 
at  that  very  hour  M.  Verduret  was  taking  his  se  it  in  the 
train  at  Tarascon,  and  meditating  upon  the  most  advanta- 
geous plan  to  be  adopted  in  pursuance  of  his  discoveries. 
For  he  had  discovered  everything. 

Adding  to  what  he  already  knew  the  story  of  an  old 
servant  of  Mademoiselle  de  La  Verberie,  the  affidavit  of  an 
old  footman  who  had  always  lived  in  the  De  Clameran 
family,  and  the  depositions  of  the  married  couple  in  the 
service  of  De  Lagors  at  his  Vesinet  country-house,  the  lat- 
ter having  been  sent  to  him  by  Dubois  (Fanferlot),  with  a 
good  deal  of  information  obtained  from  the  Prefecture  of 
Police,  he  had  worked  up  a  complete  case,  and  could  now 
act  upon  a  chain  of  evidence  without  a  missing  link.  As 
he  had  predicted,  he  had  been  compelled  to  search  into 
the  distant  past  for  the  first  causes  of  the  crime  of  which 
Prosper  had  been  the  victim.  The  following  is  the  drama, 
as  written  out  by  him  for  the  benefit  of  the  examining 
magistrate  with  the  certainty  that  it  contained  sufficient 
grounds  for  preferring  an  indictment 


FILE  NO.  l\l.  153 


XII. 

About  six  miles  from  Tarascon,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Rhone,  not  far  from  Messrs.  Audibert's  wonderful  gardens, 
stood  the  chateau  of  Clameran,  a  weather-stained,  neg 
lected,  but  massive  structure.  Here  lived,  in  1841,  the 
old  Marquis  de  Clameran  and  his  two  sons,  Gaston  and 
Louis.  The  marquis  was  an  eccentric  old  man.  He  be- 
longed to  the  race  of  nobles,  now  almost  extinct,  whose 
watches  stopped  in  1789,  and  who  keep  the  time  of  a  past 
century.  More  attached  to  his  illusions  than  to  his  life, 
the  old  marquis  insisted  upon  considering  all  the  stirring 
events  which  had  happened  since  the  first  revolution  as  a 
series  of  deplorable  practical  jokes.  Emigrating  in  the 
suite  of  the  Count  d'Artois,  he  did  not  return  to  France 
until  18 1 5,  with  the  allies.  He  should  have  been  thankful 
to  heaven  for  the  recovery  of  a  portion  of  his  immense 
family  estates  ;  a  comparatively  small  portion,  it  is  true, 
but  still  sufficient  to  support  him  honorably.  He  said, 
however,  that  he  did  not  think  the  few  paltry  acres  worth 
thanking  heaven  for.  At  first  he  tried  every  means  to  ob- 
tain an  appointment  at  court ;  but,  finding  all  his  efforts 
fail,  he  resolved  to  retire  to  his  chateau,  which  he  did, 
after  cursing  and  pitying  his  king,  whom  he  worshipped, 
and  whom,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  regarded  as  a 
thorough  Jacobin. 

The  Marquis  de  Clameran  soon  became  accustomed  to 
the  free  and  indolent  life  of  a  country  nobleman.  Pos- 
sessing about  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year,  he  spent 
twenty-five  or  thirty  thousand,  borrowing  even  on  his  es- 
tates, on  the  pretence  that  a  genuine  Restoration  would 
soon  take  place,  and  that  he  would  then  regain  possession 
of  all  his  properties.  Following  his  example,  his  younger 
son,  Louis,  lived  extravagantly,  and  was  always  in  pursuit 
of  adventure,  or  idling  away  his  time  in  drinking  and  gam- 
bling. The  elder  son,  Gaston,  anxious  to  participate  in 
the  stirring  events  of  the  time,  studied  hard,  and  read  cer- 
tain papers,  and  pamphlets  surreptitiously  received,  the 
mere  titles  of  which  were  regarded  by  his  father  as  blas- 
phemous. Altogether  the  old  marquis  was  the  happiest  of 
mortals,  eating  and  drinking  well,  hunting  a  good  deal, 
tolerated  by  the  peasants,  and  execrated  by  the  neighbor* 


154  i^ILE  NO.  113. 

ing  townspeople,  whom  he  treated  with  contempt  and  rail- 
lery. Time  never  hung  heavy  on  his  hands,  excepting  in 
the  summer,  when  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  was  intensely 
hot ;  but  even  then  he  had  infallible  means  of  amusement 
ever  fresh,  though  always  the  same.  It  was  to  speak  ill 
of  his  neighbor  the  Countess  de  La  Verberie. 

The  Countess  de  La  Verberie,  the  marquis's  special 
aversion,  was  a  tall,  wiry  woman,  angular  in  character,  as 
well  as  in  appearance,  cold  and  arrogant  towards  her  equals, 
and  domineering  over  her  inferiors.  Like  her  noble  neigh- 
bor, she  had  emigrated  with  her  husband,  who  was  after- 
wards killed  at  Lutzen,  but,  unfortunately  for  his  memory, 
not  in  the  French  ranks.  In  1815,  the  countess  also  came 
back  to  France.  But  while  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  re- 
turned to  comparative  ease,  she  could  obtain  nothing  from 
royal  munificence,  but  the  small  estate  and  chateau  of  La 
Verberie,  and  a  pension  of  two  thousand  five  hundred 
francs.  The  countess  had  but  one  child — a  lovely  girl 
of  eighteen,  named  Valentine  ;  fair,  slender,  and  graceful, 
with  large,  soft  eyes,  beautiful  enough  to  make  the  stone 
saints  of  the  village  church  thrill  in  their  niches,  when  she 
knelt  piously  at  their  feet.  The  renown  of  her  great 
beauty,  carried  along  on  the  rapid  waters  of  the  Rhone, 
had  spread  far  and  wide.  Often  the  boatmen  and  the  ro- 
bust drivers  urging  their  powerful  horses  along  the  tow- 
path,  would  stop  to  gaze  with  admiration  upon  Valentine, 
seated  under  some  grand  old  trees  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  absorbed  in  a  book.  At  a  distance,  in  her  white 
dress  and  flowing  tresses,  she  seemed  to  these  honest  peo- 
ple a  mysterious  spirit  from  another  world,  and  they  re- 
garded it  as  a  good  omen  when  they  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her.  All  along  between  Aries  and  Valence  she  was  spoken 
of  as  the  "  lovely  fairy  "  of  La  Verberie. 

If  M.  de  Clameran  detested  the  countess,  Madame  de 
La  Verberie  execrated  the  marquis.  If  he  nicknamed  her 
''the  witch,"  she  retaliated  by  calling  him  "the  old  gan- 
der." And  yet  they  ought  to  have  agreed,  for  at  heart 
they  cherished  the  same  opinions,  though  viewing  them  in 
different  ways.  The  marquis  considered  himself  a  phi- 
losopher, scoifed  at  everything,  and  had  an  excellent  diges- 
tion. The  countess  nursed  her  old  grievances,  and  grew 
sallow  and  thin  from  rage  and  envy.  Still,  they  might 
have  spent  many  pleasant  evenings  together,  for,  after  all, 


FILE  NO.  \ix,  155 

they  were  neighbors.  From  Clameran  could  be  seen 
Valentine's  greyhound  running  about  the  park  of  La  Ver* 
berie  ;  from  La  Verberie  glimpses  were  had  of  the  lights 
in  the  dining-room  windows  of  Clameran.  And,  regularly 
as  these  lights  were  discerned  every  evening,  the  countess 
would  say  in  a  spiteful  tone  :  "  Ah,  now  their  orgies  are 
about  to  commence  !  "  The  two  chateaux  were  only  sepa- 
rated by  the  fast-flowing  Rhone,  which  at  this  spot  was 
rather  narrow.  But  between  the  two  families  existed  a 
hatred  deeper  and  more  difficult  to  avert  than  even  the 
river's  course.  What  was  the  cause  of  this  hatred  ?  The 
countess,  no  less  than  the  marquis,  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  tell.  It  was  related  that  under  the  reign  of 
Henri  IV.,  or  Louis  XIII.,  a  La  Verberie  had  seduced  a 
fair  daughter  of  the  De  Clamerans.  The  misdeed  in 
question  led  to  a  duel ;  swords  flashed  in  the  sunlight, 
and  blood  stained  the  fresh  green  grass.  This  ground- 
work of  facts  had  been  highly  embellished  by  fiction ; 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  it  became  a 
long  tragic  history  of  perfidy,  murder,  and  rapine,  preclud- 
ing any  intercourse  between  the  two  families. 

The  usual  result  followed,  as  it  always  does  in  real  life, 
and  often  in  romances,  which,  however  exaggerated  they 
may  be,  generally  preserve  a  reflection  of  the  truth  w^hich 
inspires  them.  Gaston  met  Valentine  at  an  entertain- 
ment ;  and  fell  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight.  Valentine 
saw  Gaston,  and  from  that  moment  his  image  filled  her 
heart.  But  so  many  obstacles  separated  them !  For 
more  than  a  year  they  both  religiously  guarded  their  secret, 
buried  like  a  treasure  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  their  hearts. 
This  year  of  charming,  dangerous  reveries  decided  their 
fate.  To  the  sweetness  of  their  first  impressions  a  more 
tender  sentiment  succeeded  ;  then  came  love,  each  of  them 
endowing  the  other  with  superhuman  qualities  and  ideal 
perfections.  Deep,  sincere  passion  expands  only  in  soli 
tude  ;  in  the  impure  air  of  a  city  it  fades  and  dies,  like  the 
hardy  plants  of  the  south,  which  lose  their  color  and 
perfume  when  transplanted  into  our  hot-houses.  Gaston 
and  Valentine  had  only  seen  each  other  once,  but  seeing 
was  to  love  ;  and,  as  the  time  passed,  their  love  grew 
stronger,  until  at  last  the  fatality  which  had  presided  oyer 
their  first  meeting  brought  them  once  more  together 
They  chanced  to   be  visiting  at  the  same   tirne  the   old 


156  FILE  NO.  113. 

Duchess  d'Arlange,  who  had  recently  returned  to  the  neigh- 
borhood to  dispose  of  her  remaining  property.  They 
spoke  to  each  other,  and  like  old  friends,  surprised  to  find 
that  they  entertained  the  same  thoughts  and  echoed  the 
same  memories.  Again  they  were  separated  for  months. 
But  ere  long,  as  if  by  accident,  both  chanced  to  be  regu- 
larly on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  at  a  certain  hour,  when 
they  would  sit  and  gaze  across  the  river  at  each  other. 
Finally,  one  mild  May  evening,  when  Madame  de  La  Ver- 
berie  had  gone  to  Beaucaire,  Gaston  ventured  into  the 
park,  and  presented  himself  before  Valentine.  She  was 
neither  surprised  nor  indignant.  Genuine  innocence  dis- 
plays none  of  the  startled  modesty  assumed  by  its  con- 
ventional counterfeit.  It  never  occurred  to  Valentine  to 
bid  Gaston  to  leave  her.  She  leaned  upon  his  arm,  and 
strolled  up  and  down  the  grand  old  avenue  of  oaks  with 
him.  They  did  not  say  they  loved  each  other,  they  felt  it ; 
but  they  did  say  with  tears  in  their  eyes  that  their  love 
was  hopeless.  They  well  knew  that  the  inveterate  family 
feud  could  never  be  overcome,  and  that  the  attempt  would 
be  mere  folly.  They  swore  never,  never  to  forget  each 
other,  and  mournfully  resolved  never  to  meet  again,  ex- 
cepting just  once  more  ! 

Alas !  Valentine  was  not  without  excuse.  Possessed 
of  a  timid,  loving  heart,  her  expansive  affection  had  always 
been  repressed  and  chilled  by  a  harsh  mother.  Never 
had  there  been  one  of  those  long  private  talks  between  the 
Countess  de  La  Verberie  and  Valentine  which  enable  a 
good  mother  to  read  her  daughter's  heart  like  an  open 
book.  Madame  de  La  Verberie  concerned  herself  only 
M'ith  her  daughter's  beauty.  She  was  wont  to  think : 
"  Next  winter  I  will  borrow  enough  to  take  the  child  to 
Paris,  and  I  am  much  mistaken  if  her  handsome  looks  do 
not  win  her  a  rich  husband  and  release  me  from  this 
wretched  state  of  poverty."  She  considered  this  loving 
her  daughter  !  The  second  meeting  of  the  lovers  was  not 
the  last.  Gaston  dared  not  trust  a  boatman,  so  that  he 
had  to  walk  a  league  in  order  to  cross  the  bridge.  He 
thought  it  would  be  shorter  work  to  swim  the  river ;  but 
he  could  not  swim  well,  and  to  cross  the  Rhone  where  it 
ran  so  rapidly  was  a  rash  proceeding  even  for  the  most 
skilful  swimmer. 

However,  he  practised  privately,  and  to  such  good  pur* 


FILE  NO.  113.  157 

pose  that  one  evening  Valentine  was  startled  by  seeing 
him  rise  out  of  the  water  at  her  feet.  She  made  him 
promise  never  to  attempt  this  exploit  again.  Still  he  re- 
peated the  feat  and  the  promise  the  next  and  every  suc- 
cessive evening.  As  Valentine  was  always  imagining  he 
was  being  drowned  in  the  furious  current,  they  agreed  up- 
on  a  signal  to  relieve  her  anxiety.  At  the  moment  of 
starting,  Gaston  would  place  a  light  in  his  window  at 
Clameran,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  would  be  at  his 
idol's  feet. 

What  were  the  projects  and  hopes  of  the  lovers  "i  Alas  ! 
they  had  no  projects,  and  they  hoped  for  nothing.  Blindly, 
thoughtlessly,  almost  fearlessly,  they  abandoned  themselves 
to  the  dangerous  happiness  of  a  daily  meeting.  Regard- 
less of  the  storm  that  threatened  to  burst  over  their  heads, 
they  revelled  in  their  present  happiness.  Is  it  not  like 
this  with  every  sincere  passion .?  Love  subsists  upon  it- 
self and  in  itself ;  and  the  very  things  which  ought  to  ex- 
tinguish it,  absence  and  obstacles,  only  cause  it  to  burn 
more  fiercely.  It  is  exclusive  and  troubled  neither  with 
the  past  or  the  future ;  it  sees  and  cares  for  nothing  be- 
yond its  present  enjoyment.  Moreover,  Valentine  and 
Gaston  believed  every  one  ignorant  of  their  secret.  They 
had  always  been  so  exceedingly  cautious  !  they  had  kept 
such  a  strict  watch  !  They  flattered  themselves  that  their 
conduct  had  been  a  masterpiece  of  dissimulation  and 
prudence.  Valentine  had  fixed  upon  a  time  for  their 
meetings  when  she  was  certain  her  mother  would  not  miss 
her.  Gasto"^  had  never  confided  his  secret  to  anv  one, 
not  even  to  his  brother  Louis.  They  never  mentioned 
each  other's  name.  They  denied  themselves  a  last  sweet 
word,  a  final  kiss,  when  they  felt  these  would  be  attended 
with  danger.  Poor  blind  lovers  !  As  if  anything  could 
be  concealed  from  the  idle  curiosity  of  country  gossips ; 
from  the  slanderous  spirits  ever  on  the  look-out  for  some 
new  bit  of  scandal,  on  which  they  improve  and  eagerly 
spread  far  and  near.  They  believed  their  secret  well  kept, 
whereas  it  had  long  since  been  a  matter  of  public  notori- 
ety ;  the  story  of  their  love,  the  particulars  of  their  meet- 
ings, were  topics  of  conversation  throughout  the  neighbor- 
hood. Sometimes  at  dusk  they  would  see  a  boat  gliding 
through  the  water,  close  to  the  shore,  and  would  say  to 
f;acb  other,  "  It  is  a  belated  fisherman  returning  home." 


158  FILE  NO.  113.  ^ 

They  were  mistaken.  On  board  the  boat  were  spies, 
who,  delighted  at  having  discovered  them,  hastened  to  re- 
port, with  a  number  of  false  details,  the  result  of  their 
shameful  expedition. 

One  dreary  November  evening,  Gaston  was  awakened 
to  the  true  state  of  affairs.  The  Rhone  was  so  swollen  by 
heavy  rains  that  an  inundation  was  daily  expected.  To 
attempt  to  swim  across  this  impetuous  torrent,  would  be 
tempting  Providence.  Gaston  therefore  went  to  Tarascon, 
intending  to  cross  the  bridge  there,  and  to  walk  along  the 
bank  to  the  usual  place  of  meeting  at  La  Verberie,  where 
Valentine  expected  him  at  eleven  o'clock.  Whenever 
Gaston  went  to  Tarascon,  he  dined  with  a  relative  living 
there ;  but  on  this  occasion  a  strange  fatality  led  him  to 
accompany  a  friend  to  the  Hotel  of  the  Three  Emperors. 
After  dinner,  instead  of  going  to  the  Cafe  Simon,  their 
usual  resort,  they  went  to  the  little  cafe  facing  the  open 
space  where  the  fairs  are  held.  They  found  the  small 
apartment  crowded  with  young  men  of  the  town.  Gaston 
and  his  friend  called  for  a  bottle  of  beer,  and  commenced 
a  game  at  billiards.  After  they  had  been  playing  for  a 
short  time,  Gaston's  attention  was  attracted  by  peals  of 
forced  laughter  from  a  party  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
From  this  moment,  with  his  attention  taken  up  by  this  con- 
tinued laughter,  of  which  he  believed  himself  the  object, 
he  knocked  the  balls  about  recklessly.  His  conduct  sur- 
prised his  friend,  who  remarked  to  him  :  "  Why,  what  is 
the  matter  ?     You  are  missing  the  simplest  strokes." 

"  It  is  nothing." 

The  game  continued  a  little  while  longer,  when  Gaston 
suddenly  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and,  throwing  down 
his  cue,  strode  towards  the  table  which  was  occupied  by 
five  young  men,  playing  dominoes  and  drinking  mulled 
wine.  He  addressed  the  elder  of  the  group,  a  handsome 
man  of  twenty-six,  with  large  bright  eyes,  and  a  fierce  black 
mustache,  named  Jules  Lazet.  "  Repeat,  if  you  dare," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  passion,  "  the  remark 
you  just  now  made  !  " 

"  Who  would  prevent  me  ? "  asked  Lazet  calmly.  "  I 
said,  and  I  repeat,  that  a  nobleman's  daughter  is  no  better 
than  a  workman's  daughter ;  that  virtue  does  not  necessa- 
rily accompany  a  title." 

**  You  na^ntionecl  a  particular  narne  1 " 


FILE  NO.  113.  159 

Lazet  rose  from  his  chair  as  if  he  knew  his  answer  would 
exasperate  Gaston,  and  that  from  words  they  would  come 
to  blows.  "I  did,"  he  said,  with  an  insolent  smile.  "I 
mentioned  the  name  of  the  prett}'  little  fairy  of  La  Verbe- 
rie." 

At  this  all  the  young  men,  and  even  a  couple  of  com- 
mercial travellers  who  were  dining  at  the  cafe,  rose  and 
surrounded  the  two  disputants.  The  provoking  looks,  the 
murmurs,  the  shouts,  which  were  directed  towards  Gaston 
as  he  walked  up  to  Lazet,  convinced  him  that  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  enemies.  The  wickedness  and  the  evil  tongue 
of  the  old  marquis  were  bearing  their  fruit.  Rancor  fer- 
ments quickly  and  fiercely  in  the  hearts  and  heads  of  the 
people  of  Provence.  But  Gaston  de  Clameran  was  not  a 
man  to  withdraw,  even  if  his  foes  were  a  hundred,  instead 
of  fifteen  or  twenty. 

"  No  one  but  a  coward,"  he  said,  in  a  clear,  ringing 
voice,  which  the  pervading  silence  rendered  almost  start- 
ling ;  "  no  one  but  a  contemptible  coward  would  be  base 
enough  to  calumniate  a  young  girl  who  has  neither  father 
nor  brother  to  defend  her  honor." 

"  If  she  has  no  father  or  brother,"  sneered  Lazet,  "  she 
has  her  lovers,  and  that  suffices." 

The  insulting  words,  "  her  lovers,"  enraged  Gaston  be- 
yond control ;  he  struck  Lazet  violently  in  the  face.  Every 
one  in  the  cafe  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm. 
Lazet's  violence  of  character,  his  herculean  strength  and 
undaunted  courage,  were  well  known.  He  sprang  over 
the  table  that  separated  him  from  Gaston,  and  seized  him 
by  the  throat.  Then  arose  a  scene  of  excitement  and  con- 
fusion. De  Clameran's  friend,  attempting  to  assist  him, 
was  knocked  down  with  billiard-cues,  and  kicked  under  g 
table.  Equally  strong  and  agile,  Gaston  and  Lazet  strug- 
gled for  some  minutes  without  either  gaining  an  advan- 
tage. Lazet,  as  loyal  as  he  was  courageous,  would  not  ac- 
cept assistance  from  his  friends.  He  continually  called 
out :  "  Keep  away  ;  let  me  fight  it  out  alone  !  " 

But  the  others  were  too  excited  to  remain  inactive  spec- 
tators of  the  scene.  "  A  blanket,  quick !"  cried  one  of 
them  ;  "  a  blanket  to  toss  the  marquis  !  " 

Five  or  six  young  men  now  rushed  upon  Gaston,  and 
separated  him  from  Lazer.  Some  tried  to  throw  him  down, 
others  to  trip  him  up.     He  defended  himself  with  the  en- 


t6o  FILE  NO.  113. 

ergy  of  despa'r,  exhibiting  in  his  furious  struggles  a 
strength  of  which  no  one  would  have  thought  him  capa- 
ble. He  struck  right  and  left  as  he  showered  fierce  epi- 
thets upon  his  adversaries  who  were  twelve  against  one. 
He  was  endeavoring  to  get  round  the  billiard-table  so  as 
to  be  near  the  door,  and  had  almost  succeeded,  when  an 
exultant  cry  arose  :  ''  Here  is  the  blanket !  " 

*'  Put  him  in  the  blanket — the  little  fairy's  lover!  " 
Gaston  heard  these  cries.  He  saw  himself  overcome, 
and  suffering  an  ignoble  outrage  at  the  hands  of  these  en- 
raged men.  By  a  dexterous  movement  he  extricated  him- 
self from  the  grasp  of  the  three  who  were  holding  him, 
and  felled  a  fourth  to  the  ground.  His  arms  were  free  ; 
but  all  his  enemies  returned  to  the  charge.  Then  he 
seemed  to  lose  his  head,  and  seizing  a  knife  which  lay  on 
the  table  where  the  commercial  travellers  had  been  din- 
ing, he  plunged  it  twice  into  the  breast  of  the  first  man 
who  rushed  upon  him.  This  unfortunate  man  was  Jules 
Lazet.  He  dropped  to  the  ground.  There  was  a  second 
of  silent  horror.  Then  four  or  five  of  the  young  men 
rushed  forward  to  raise  Lazet.  The  landlady  ran  about 
wringing  her  hands,  and  screaming  with  fright.  Some  of 
the  younger  assailants  rushed  into  the  streets  shouting : 
"  Murder  !  Murder  !  "  But  all  the  others  turned  upon 
Gaston  with  cries  of  vengeance.  He  felt  that  he  was  lost. 
His  enemies  seized  the  first  objects  they  could  lay  their 
hands  upon  and  he  received  several  wounds.  He  jumped 
upon  the  billiard-table,  and  making  a  rapid  spring,  dashed 
at  the  large  window  of  the  cafe.  He  was  fearfully  cut  by 
the  broken  glass  and  splinters,  but  he  passed  through. 

Gaston  was  outside,  but  he  was  not  yet  saved.  Aston- 
ished and  disconcerted  at  his  desperate  feat,  his  assailants 
for  a  moment  were  stupefied  ;  but  recovering  their  pres- 
ence of  mind,  they  started  in  pursuit  of  him.  The  weather 
was  bad,  the  ground  wet  and  muddy,  and  heavy  black 
clouds  were  rolling  westward ;  but  the  night  was  not  dark. 
Gaston  ran  on  from  tree  to  tree,  making  frequent  turnings, 
every  moment  on  the  point  of  being  surrounded  and  seized, 
and  asking  himself  what  course  he  should  take.  Finally 
he  determined,  if  possible,  to  reach  Clameran.  With  in- 
credible rapidity  he  darted  diagonally  across  the  open 
space,  in  the  direction  of  the  embankment  which  protects 
the  valley  of  Tarascon  from  inundations.     Unfortunately, 


FILE  NO.  113.  ^61 

npon  reaching  this  embankment,  planted  with  magnificent 
trees,  which  make  it  one  of  the  most  charming  promenades 
of  Provence,  Gaston  forgot  that  the  entrance  was  partially- 
closed  by  three  posts,  such  as  are  always  placed  before 
walks  intended  for  foot-passengers  only,  and  rushed  against 
one  of  them  with  such  violence  that  he  was  throw^n  back 
and  badly  bruised.  He  quickly  sprang  up  ;  but  his  pursu- 
ers were  upon  him.  This  time  he  could  expect  no  mercy. 
The  infuriated  men  at  his  heels  yelled  that  fearful  cry, 
wnicn  in  the  evil  days  of  lawless  bloodshed  had  often 
echoed  in  that  valley  :  "  To  the  Rhone  with  him  !  To 
the  Rhone  with  the  marquis  !  " 

His  reason  had  abandoned  him  ;  he  no  longer  knew 
what  he  did.  His  forehead  was  cut,  and  the  blood  trickled 
from  the  wound  into  his  eyes,  and  blinded  him.  He  must 
escape,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  He  had  tightly  clasped  the 
bloody  knife  with  which  he  had  stabbed  Lazet.  He  struck 
his  nearest  foe ;  the  man  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  heavy 
groan.  This  blow  gained  him  a  moment's  respite,  which 
gave  him  time  to  pass  between  the  posts,  and  rush  along 
the  embankment.  Two  men  remained  kneeling  over  their 
wounded  companion,  and  five  others  resumed  the  pursuit. 
But  Gaston  ran  fast,  for  the  horror  of  his  situation  tripled 
his  energy  ;  excitement  deadened  the  pain  of  his  wounds  ; 
with  elbows  kept  tight  to  his  sides,  and  holding  his  breath, 
he  went  along  at  such  a  speed  that  he  soon  distanced  his 
pursuers ;  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  became  gradually 
more  indistinct,  and  finally  ceased.  Gaston  ran  on  for 
another  mile,  across  fields  and  through  hedges;  fences 
and  ditches  were  leaped  without  effort,  and  only  when  he 
knew  he  was  safe  from  capture  he  sank  down  at  the  foot 
'of  a  tree  to  rest.  This  terrible  scene  had  taken  place  with 
inconceivable  rapidity.  Only  forty  minutes  had  elapsed 
since  Gaston  and  his  friend  entered  the  cafe.  But  during 
this  short  time  how  much  had  happened  !  These  forty 
minutes  had  given  him  more  cause  for  sorrow  and  remorse 
than  the  whole  of  his  previous  life  put  together.  En- 
tering this  cafe  with  head  erect  and  a  happy  heart,  en- 
joying present  existence,  and  looking  forAvard  to  a  yet  bet- 
ter future,  he  left  it  ruined  ;  for  he  was  a  murderer  !  He 
had  killed  a  man,  and  still  convulsively  held  the  murder- 
ous instrument ;  he  cast  it  from  him  with  horror.  He  tried 
to  account  for  the  dreadful  circumstances  which  had  just 


i62  FILE  NO.  113. 

taken  place ;  as  if  it  were  of  any  importance  to  a  man  ly. 
ing  at  the  bottom  of  an  abyss  to  know  which  stone  had 
slipped,  and  precipitated  him  from  the  summit.  Still,  if 
he  alone  had  been  lost !  But  Valentine  was  dragged  down 
with  him  ;  her  reputation  was  gone.  And  it  was  his  want 
of  self-command  which  had  cast  to  the  winds  this  honor, 
confided  to  his  keeping,  and  which  he  held  far  dearer  than 
his  own. 

But  he  could  not  remain  here  bewailing  his  misfortune. 
The  authorities  must  soon  be  on  his  track.  They  would 
certainly  go  to  the  chateau  of  Clameran  to  seek  him ;  and 
before  leaving  home,  perhaps  forever,  he  wished  to  say 
good-by  to  his  father,  and  once  more  press  Valentine  to 
his  heart.  He  started  to  walk,  but  with  great  pain,  for 
the  reaction  had  come,  and  his  nerves  and  muscles,  so  vio- 
lently strained,  had  now  began  to  relax ;  the  intense  heat 
caused  by  his  struggling  and  fast  running  was  replaced  by 
a  cold  perspiration,  aching  limbs,  and  chattering  teeth. 
His  hip  and  shoulder  pained  him  almost  beyond  endur- 
ance. The  cut  on  his  forehead  had  almost  stopped  bleed- 
ing, but  the  coagulated  blood  round  his  eyes  nearly  blinded 
him.  After  a  painful  walk  he  reached  home  at  ten  o'clock. 
The  old  valet  who  admitted  him  started  back  terrified. 

"  Good  heavens,  sir  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Silence !  "  said  Gaston  in  the  brief,  compressed  tone 
always  inspired  by  imminent  danger  ;  "  silence  !  Where 
is  my  father  }  " 

"  The  marquis  is  in  his  room  with  M.  Louis.  He  has 
had  a  sudden  attack  of  the  gout,  and  cannot  put  his  foot 
to  the  ground  ;  but  you,  sir — " 

Gaston  did  not  stop  to  listen  further.  He  hurried  to 
his  father's  room.  The  old  marquis,  who  was  playing 
backgammon  with  Louis,  dropped  his  dice-box  with  a  cry 
of  horror,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  his  eldest  son  stand- 
ing before  him  covered  with  blood.  "What  is  the  matter? 
what  have  you  been  doing,  Gaston  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  have  come  to  embrace  you  for  the  last  time,  father, 
and  to  ask  for  assistance  to  escape  abroad." 

"  You  wish  to  fly  ?  " 

"  I  must,  father,  and  instantly  ;  I  am  pursued,  the  gen- 
darmes may  be  here  at  any  moment.  I  have  killed  two 
men." 

The  marquis  was  so  shocked  that  he  forgot  the  goutj  and 


FILE  NO.  113.  i5j 

attempted  to  rise  ;  a  violent  twinge  made  him  drop  back 
into  his  chair. 

"  Where  ?     When  ? "  he  gasped. 

"  At  Tarascon,  in  a  caf^,  an  hour  ago ;  fifteen  men  at- 
tacked me,  and  I  seized  a  knife  to  defend  myself." 

"Tlie  old  tricks  of '93,"  said  the  marquis.  "  Did  they 
insult  you,  Gaston  ?  " 

"  They  insulted  in  my  presence  the  name  of  a  noble 
young  girl." 

"  And  you  punished  the  rascals  ?  By  heaven  !  you  did 
well.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  nobleman  allowing  insolent 
puppies  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  a  lady  of  quality  in  his 
presence  t     But  who  was  the  lady  you  defended  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  Valentine  de  La  Verberie." 

"What!"  cried  the  marquis,  "what!  the  daughter  of 
that  old  witch !  Those  accursed  La  Verberies  have  al- 
ways brought  misfortune  upon  us."  He  certainly  abomi- 
nated the  countess  ;  but  his  respect  for  her  noble  blood  was 
greater  than  his  resentment  tow'ards  her  individualit}',  and 
he  added;  "Nevertheless,  Gaston,  you  did  your  duty." 

Meanwhile,  the  curiosity  of  Jean,  the  marquis's  old  valet, 
made  him  venture  to  open  the  door,  and  ask  :  "  Did  Mon- 
sieur the  Marquis  ring.?" 

"No,  you  rascal,"  answered  M.  de  Clameran,  "you 
know  very  well  I  did  not.  But  now  you  are  here,  be  use- 
ful. Quickly  bring  some  clothes  for  M.  Gaston,  some 
clean  linen,  and  some  warm  water  :  everything  necessary 
to  dress  his  wounds." 

These  orders  were  promptly  executed,  and  Gaston  found 
he  was  not  so  badly  hurt  as  he  had  thought.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  deep  stab  in  his  left  shoulder,  his  wounds 
were  not  serious.  After  receiving  all  the  attentions  which 
his  condition  required,  Gaston  felt  like  a  new  man,  ready 
to  brave  any  peril.  His  eyes  sparkled  with  redoubled  en- 
ergy. The  marquis  made  a  sign  to  the  servants  to  leave 
the  room..  "  Do  you  still  think  yoci  ought  to  leave  France  ? " 
he  asked  Gaston. 

"  Yes,  father." 

*'  My  brother  ought  not  to  hesitate,"  interposed  Louis  ; 
"  he  will  be  arrested  here,  thrown  into  prison,  villified  in 
court,  and — who  knows  ?  " 

"We  all  know  w'ell  enough  that  he  will  be  convicted," 
grumbled  the  old  marquis.     "  These   are  the  benefits  of 


i64  FILE  NO.  113. 

the  immortal  revolution,  as  it  is  called.  Ah,  in  my  young 
days  we  three  would  have  taken  our  swords,  jumped  on 
our  horses,  and,  dashing  into  Tarascon,  would  soon  have — 
But  to-day  we  have  to  run  away." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  observed  Louis. 

"  True,"  said  the  marquis,  "  but  to  fly,  to  go  abroad, 
one  must  have  money ;  and  I  have  none  by  me  to  give  to 
him." 

"  Father  !  " 

"  No,  I  have  none.  Ah,  what  a  prodigal  old  fool  I  have 
been  !     Have  I  even  a  hundred  louis  ?  " 

Then  he  told  Louis  to  open  the  secretary.  The  drawer 
in  which  the  money  was  kept  contained  only  nine  hundred 
and  twenty  francs  in  gold. 

"  Nine  hundred  and  twenty  francs,"  cried  the  marquis  ; 
"  it  is  not  enough.  The  eldest  son  of  our  house  cannot 
fly  the  country  with  this  paltry  sum." 

He  sat  lost  in  reflection.  Suddenly  his  brow  cleared, 
and  he  told  Louis  to  open  a  secret  drawer  in  the  secretary, 
and  bring  him  a  small  casket.  Then  the  marquis  took 
from  his  neck  a  black  ribbon,  to  which  was  attached  the 
key  of  the  casket.  His  sons  observed  with  what  deep 
emotion  he  unlocked  it,  and  slowly  took  out  a  necklace,  a 
cross,  several  rings,  and  various  other  jewels.  His  count- 
enance assumed  a  solemn  expression.  "  Gaston,  my  dear 
son,"  he  said,  "  at  a  time  like  this  your  life  may  depend 
upon  bought  assistance  ;  money  is  power." 

"  I  am  young,  father,  and  have  courage." 

"  Listen  to  me.  These  jewels  belonged  to  your  sainted 
mother,  a  noble  woman,  who  is  now  in  heaven  watching 
over  us.  They  have  never  left  me.  During  my  days  of 
misery  and  want,  when  I  was  compelled  to  earn  a  liveli- 
hood by  teaching  music  in  London,  I  piously  treasured 
them.  I  never  thought  of  selling  them  ;  and  to  pawn  them, 
in  the  hour  of  direst  need,  would  have  seemed  to  me  a 
sacrilege.  But  now,  take  them,  my  son,  and  sell  them  ; 
they  will  fetch  twenty  thousand  francs." 

"  No,  my  father,  no,  I  cannot  take  them  ! " 

"  You  must,  Gaston.  If  your  mother  were  on  earth,  she 
would  tell  you  to  take  them,  as  I  do  now.  I  command 
you  to  take  and  use  them.  The  safety,  the  honor,  of  the 
heir  of  the  house  of  De  Clameran  must  not  be  imperilled 
for  want  of  a  little  goldu" 


FILE  NO.  113.  t05 

With  tearful  eyes,  Gaston  sank  on  his  knees,  and,  carry- 
ing his  father's  hand  to  his  lips,  murmured  :  "  Thanks, 
father,  thanks  !  In  my  heedless,  ungrateful  presumption 
I  have  hitherto  misjudged  you,  I  did  not  know  your  no- 
ble character.  Forgive  me.  I  accept,  yes,  I  accept  these 
jewels  worn  by  my  dear  mother;  but  I  take  them  as  a 
sacred  deposit,  confided  to  my  honor,  and  for  which  I 
will  some  day  account  to  you." 

In  their  emotion,  the  marquis  and  Gaston  forg;ot  the 
threatened  danger.  But  Louis  was  not  touched  by  the  af- 
fecting scene.  "  Time  presses,"  he  said  :  "  you  had  better 
hasten." 

"  He  is  right,"  cried  the  marquis  ;  "go,  Gaston,  go, my 
son  ;  and  heaven  protect  the  heir  of  the  De  Clamerans  ! " 

Gaston  slowly  got  up,  and  said  with  an  embarrassed  air  ; 
"  Before  leaving  you,  father,  I  must  fulfil  a  sacred  duty. 
I  have  not  told  you  everything.  I  love  Valentine,  the  young 
girl  whose  honor  I  defended  this  evening." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  marquis,  thunderstruck,  "  oh,  oh  !  " 

''  And  I  entreat  you,  father,  to  ask  Madame  de  La  Ver- 
berie  for  her  daughter's  hand.  Valetine  will  gladly  join 
me  abroad,  and  share  my  exile." 

Gaston  stopped,  frightened  at  the  effect  of  his  words. 
The  old  marquis  had  become  crimson,  or  rather  purple,  as 
if  struck  by  apoplexy. 

"  Preposterous  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Impossible  !  Perfect 
folly  ! " 

"  I  love  her,  father,  and  have  promised  her  never  to 
marry  another." 

"  Then  you  will  remain  a  bachelor." 

"  I  shall  marry  her !  "  cried  Gaston  excitedly.  *■  I  shall 
marry  her  because  I  have  sworn  1  would,  and  I  will  not 
be  so  base  as  to  desert  her." 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"  I  tell  you  Mademoiselle  de  La  Verberie  must  and 
shall  be  my  wife.  It  is  too  late  for  me  to  draw  back. 
Even  if  I  no  longer  loved  her,  I  would  still  marry  her,  be- 
cause she  has  given  herself  to  me  ;  because,  can't  you  un- 
derstand, what  was  said  at  the  cafd  to-night  was  true  : 
Valentine  is  my  mistress." 

Gaston's  confession,  forced  from  him  by  circumstances, 
produced  a  very  different  impression  from  that  which  he 
b^d   expected.     The   enraged  marquis  instantly  became 


i66  FILE  NO.  113. 

cool,  and  his  mind  seemed  relieved  of  an  immense  weight 
A  wicked  joy  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  as  he  replied  :  "  Ah,  ha  ! 
she  yielded  to  your  entreaties,  did  she  ?  Heavens  !  I  am 
delighted.  I  congratulate  you,  Gaston  ;  they  say  she  is 
charming,  the  little  wench." 

"  Sir  !  "  interrupted  Gaston  indignantly  ;  "  I  have  told 
you  that  I  love  her,  and  have  promised  to  marry  her.  You 
seem  to  forget." 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta  !  "  cried  the  marquis,  "  your  scruples  are  ab- 
surd. You  know  full  well  that  one  of  her  ancestors  led 
one  of  our  girls  astray.  Now  we  are  quits  !  And  so  she 
is  your  mistress — " 

"  I  swear  by  my  mother's  memory  that  Valentine  shall 
be  my  wife  !  " 

**  Do  you  dare  assume  that  tone  towards  me  ?  "  cried  the 
exasperated  marquis.  "  Never,  understand  me  clearly, 
never  will  I  give  my  consent.  You  know  how  dear  to  me 
is  the  honor  of  our  house.  Well,  I  would  rather  see  you 
tried  for  murder,  and  even  condemned,  than  married  to 
this  hussey  ! " 

This  last  word  was  too  much  for  Gaston.  "  Then  your 
wish  shall  be  gratified,  sir.  I  will  remain  here,  and  be  ar- 
rested. I  care  not  what  becomes  of  me  !  What  is  life  to 
me  without  the  hope  of  Valentine  ?  Take  back  these  jew- 
els ;  they  are  useless  now." 

A  terrible  scene  would  have  ensued  between  the  father 
and  son  had  they  not  been  interrupted  by  a  domestic  who 
rushed  into  the  room,  and  excitedly  exclaimed  :  "  The 
gendarmes  !  here  are  the  gendarmes  !  " 

At  this  news  the  old  marquis  started  up,  and  seemed  to 
forget  his  gout,  which  had  yielded  to  more  violent  emo= 
tions.  "  Gendarmes  !  "  he  cried,  "  in  my  house,  at  Cla- 
meran  !  They  shall  pay  dear  for  their  insolence  !  You  will 
help  me,  will  you  not,  my  men  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  the  servants.  "  Down  with  the 
gendarmes  !  down  with  them  !  " 

Fortunately,  Louis,  during  all  this  excitement,  preserved 
his  presence  of  mind.  "To  resist  would  be  folly,"  he 
said.  "  Even  if  we  repulsed  the  gendarmes  to-night,  they 
would  return  to-morrow  with  re-enforcements." 

"Louis  is  right,"  said  the  marquis  bitterly.  "  Might  is 
right,  as  they  said  in  '93.  The  gendarmes  are  all  power 
ful.     Do  they  not  even  have  the  impertinence  to  come  up 


FILE  NO.  113.  167 

to  me  while  I  am  out  shooting,  and  ask  to  see  my  license  ? 
— I,  a  De  Clameran,  show  a  Ucense  !  " 

"  Where  are  they  ?  "  asked  Louis  of  the  servants. 

"  At  the  outer  gate,"  answered  La  Verdure,  one  of  the 
grooms.  "  Do  you  not  hear  the  noise  they  are  making 
with  their  sabres,  sir?  " 

"  Then  Gaston  must  escape  by  the  garden  door." 

"  It  is  guarded,  sir,"  said  La  Verdure  in  despair,  "  and 
the  little  gate  in  the  park  also.  There  seems  to  be  a  reg- 
iment of  them.  They  are  even  stationed  along  the  park 
walls." 

This  was  only  too  true.  The  rumor  of  Lazet's  death 
had  spreal  like  wild-fire  throughout  the  town  of  Tarascon, 
and  everybody  was  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Not  only  the 
mounted  gendarmes,  but  a  platoon  of  hussars  from  the  gar- 
rison, had  been  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  murderer.  And  at 
least  twenty  young  men  of  the  town  guided  them. 

"Then,"  said  the  marquis,  ''we  are  surrounded?  " 

"  Not  a  single  chance  of  escape,"  groaned  Jean. 

"  We  shall  see  about  that !  "  cried  the  marquis.  "  Ah, 
we  are  not  the  strongest,  but  we  can  be  the  most  artful. 
Attention  !  Louis,  my  son,  you  and  La  Verdure  go  down 
to  the  stables,  and  mount  the  fastest  horses  ;  then  as  quietly 
as  possible  station  yourselves,  you,  Louis,  at  the  park  gate, 
and  you.  La  Verdure,  at  the  outer  gate.  You  others,  go 
and  post  yourselves  at  either  of  the  gates.  Upon  the  sig- 
nal I  shall  give  by  firing  off  a  pistol,  let  both  gates  be  in- 
stantly opened.  Louis  and  La  Verdure  must  spur  on  their 
horses,  and  do  all  they  can  to  pass  through  the  gen- 
darmes, who  are  sure  to  follow  in  pursuit." 

"  I  will  make  them  run,"  said  La  Verdure. 

"  Listen.  During  this  time,  Gaston,  aided  by  Jean,  will 
scale  the  park  wall,  and  hasten  along  the  river-bank  to  the 
cabin  of  Pilorel,  the  fisherman.  He  is  an  old  sailor,  and 
devoted  to  our  house.  He  will  take  Gaston  in  his  boat  ; 
and,  when  they  are  once  on  the  Rhone,  there  is  nothing 
to  be  feared  save  heaven.  Now  go,  all  of  you  :  do  as  I 
have  said." 

Left  alone  with  his  son,  the  old  marquis  slipped  the  jew- 
els into  a  silk  purse,  and  stretching  out  his  arms  towards 
Gaston  said,  in  broken  accents  :  "  Come  here,  my  son, 
and  let  me  bless  you."  Gaston  hesitated.  "  Come,"  in- 
sisted the  old  man,  "  I  must  embrace  vou  for  the  last  time ' 


i68  FILE  NO.  113. 

I  may  never  see  you  again.  Save  yourself,  save  your 
name,  Gaston,  and  then — you  know  how  I  love  you.  Take 
back  these  jewels — " 

For  an  instant  father  and  son  clung  to  each  other,  over- 
powered by  emotion.  But  the  continued  noise  at  the 
gate  now  reached  their  ears.  "  We  must  part !  "  said  M. 
de  Clameran.  And,  taking  a  pair  of  small  pistols,  he 
handed  them  to  his  son,  and  added  with  averted  eyes  : 
"  You  must  not  be  captured  alive,  Gaston  !  " 

Unfortunately  Gaston  did  not  immediately  hasten  to  the 
park  wall.  He  yearned  more  than  ever  to  see  Valentine, 
and  he  perceived  a  possibility  of  being  able  to  bid  her 
farewell.  He  could  persuade  Pilorel  to  stop  the  boat  when 
they  reached  the  park  of  La  Verberie.  He  therefore  em- 
ployed the  few  minutes  respite  that  destiny  had  allowed 
him  in  going  to  his  room  and  placing  in  the  window  the 
signal  that  would  tell  Valentine  he  was  coming  ;  and  even 
waited  for  an  answering  light. 

"Come,  M.  Gaston,"  entreated  old  Jean,  who  could  not 
understand  this  strange  conduct.  "  For  heaven's  sake 
make  haste  !  your  life  is  at  stake  ! " 

At  last  he  came  running  down  the  stairs,  and  had  just 
reached  the  hall  when  a  pistol-shot,  the  signal  given  by 
the  marquis,  resounded  through  the  house.  The  swinging 
open  of  the  large  gate,  the  rattling  of  the  sabres  of  the 
gendarmes,  the  furious  galloping  of  many  horses,  and  a 
chorus  of  loud  shouts  and  angry  oaths,  were  next  heard. 
Leaning  against  the  window  of  his  room,  his  brow  covered 
with  perspiration,  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  breathlessly 
awaited  the  issue  of  this  expedient,  upon  which  depended 
the  life  of  his  eldest  son.  His  measures  were  excellent. 
As  he  had  planned,  Louis  and  La  Verdure  managed  to  dash 
out  through  the  gates,  one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the 
left,  each  one  pursued  by  a  crowd  of  mounted  men.  Their 
horses  flew  like  arrows,  and  kept  far  ahead  of  the  pur- 
suers. Gaston  was  as  good  as  saved,  when  fate,  but  was 
it  only  fate,, interfered  ?  Suddenly  Louis's  horse  stumbled, 
and  fell  to  the  ground  with  his  rider  under  him.  Immedi- 
ately surrounded  by  the  gendarmes,  M.  de  Clameran's 
second  son  was  easily  recognized. 

"  He  is  not  the  murderer  !  "  cried  one  of  the  young  m^en 
of  the  town.  "  Let  us  hurry  back,  they  are  trying  to  de- 
ceive us ! " 


MLE  NO.  113.  r69 

They  returned  just  in  time  to  see,  by  the  uncertain  light 
of  the  moon  peeping  from  behind  a  cloud,  Gaston  climbing 
the  wall. 

"  There  is  our  man  !  "  exclaimed  a  corporal.  "  Keep 
your  eyes  open,  and  gallop  after  him  !  " 

They  spurred  their  horses,  and  hastened  to  the  spot 
where  Gaston  had.  jumped  from  the  wall.  On  a  piece  of 
ground  at  all  wooded,  or  even  if  it  be  only  hilly,  an  agile 
man  on  foot,  if  he  preserves  his  presence  of  mind,  can  es- 
cape a  number  of  horsemen.  Now  the  ground  on  this 
side  of  the  park  was  extremely  favorable  to  Gaston.  He 
found  himself  in  an  immense  madder-field,  and  it  >s  well 
known  that  this  valuable  root,  having  to  remain  in  the 
ground  three  years,  the  furrows  are  necessarily  pUughed 
very  deep.  Horses  cannot  gallop  over  its  uneven  surface ; 
indeed,  they  can  scarcely  stand  steadily  upon  it.  This 
circumstance  brought  the  gendarmes  to  a  dead  halt.  Four 
hussars  ventured  in  the  field,  but  their  efforts  were  useless. 
Jumping  from  furrow  to  furrow,  Gaston  soon  left  his  pur- 
suers  far  behind,  and  reached  a  vast  plantation  covered 
with  undergrowth.  As  his  chances  of  escape  increased, 
the  excitement  grew  more  intense.  The  horsemen  urged 
each  other  on,  and  called  out  every  time  they  saw  Gaston 
run  from  one  clump  of  trees  to  another.  Being  familial 
with  the  country,  young  De  Clameran  did  not  despair. 
He  knew  that  after  the  plantation  came  a  field  of  thistles, 
and  that  the  two  were  separated  by  a  wide,  deep  ditch. 
He  resolved  to  jump  into  this  ditch,  run  along  the  bottom, 
and  climb  out  at  the  further  end,  while  the  others  were 
still  looking  for  him  among  the  trees.  But  he  had  forgot- 
ten the  rising  of  the  river.  Upon  reaching  the  ditch,  he 
found  it  full  of  water.  Discouraged  but  not  disconcerted, 
he  was  about  to  jump  across,  when  three  horsemen  ap- 
peared on  the  opposite  side.  They  were  gendarmes  who 
had  ridden  round  the  madder-field  and  the  plantation, 
knowing  they  would  easily  make  up  for  lost  time  on  the 
level  ground  of  the  field  of  thistles.  At  the  sight  of  these 
three  men,  Gastron  stood  perplexed.  He  would  certainly 
be  captured  if  he  attempted  to  run  through  the  field,  at 
the  end  of  which  he  could  see  the  cabin  of  Pilorel,  the 
fisherman.  To  retrace  his  steps  would  be  to  surrender  to 
the  hussars.  At  a  little  distance  on  his  right  was  a  small 
wood^  but  he  was  separated  from*  it  by  a  road  upon  which 


170  FILE  NO.  113. 

he  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs.  He  would  certain!}! 
be  caught  there  also.  On  his  left  was  the  surging,  foam- 
ing river.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  felt  the  circle  of 
which  he  was  the  centre  fast  narrowing  around  him. 
Must  he,  then,  fall  back  upon  the  pistols,  and  there,  in  the 
midst  of  the  country,  hunted  by  gendarmes  like  a  wild 
beast,  blow  his  brains  out  '^.  What  a  death  for  a  De  Cla- 
meran  !  No  !  He  would  seize  the  one  chance  of  salvation 
left  him  ;  a  forlorn,  desperate,  perilous  chance,  but  still 
a  chance — the  river.  Holding  a  pistol  in  either  hand,  he 
ran  to  the  edge  of  a  little  promontory,  projecting  a  few 
yards  into  the  Rhone.  This  cape  of  refuge  was  formed 
by  the  giant  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  which  swayed  and 
cracked  fearfully  under  Gaston's  weight,  as  he  stood  on 
the  further  end,  and  looked  back  upon  his  pursuers;  there 
were  fifteen  of  them,  some  on  the  right,  some  on  the  left, 
all  uttering  cries  of  joy. 

"  Do  you  surrender  ? "  called  out  the  corporal  of  gen- 
darmes. 

Gaston  did  not  answer ;  he  was  weighing  his  chances. 
He  was  above  the  park  of  La  Verberie  :  would  he  be  able 
to  swim  there,  granting  that  he  was  not  swept  away  and 
drowned  the  instant  he  plunged  into  the  angry  torrent  be- 
fore him  ?  He  pictured  Valentine,  at  that  very  moment, 
watching,  waiting,  and  praying  for  him  on  the  other  shore. 

"  For  the  second  time  do  you  surrender  ? "  cried  the 
corporal. 

The  unfortunate  man  did  not  hear ;  he  was  deafened  by 
che  waters  which  were  roaring  and  rushing  pa^t  him.  He 
was  at  that  supreme  moment,  with  his  foot  upon  the  thresh- 
old of  another  world,  when  a  man  sees  his  past  life  rise 
before  him,  and  judges  himself.  Although  death  stared 
him  in  the  face,  Gaston  calmly  considered  which  would  be 
the  best  spot  to  take  his  plunge,  and  commended  his  soul 
to  God. 

"  He  will  stand  there  until  we  go  after  him,"  said  a 
gendarme  ;  "  so  we  may  as  well  do  so  at  once." 

But  Gaston  had  finished  his  prayer.  He  flung  his  pis- 
tols in  the  direction  of  the  gendarmes  :  he  was  ready. 
He  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  then,  with  outstretched 
arms,  plunged  into  the  Rhone.  The  violence  of  his  spring 
loosened  the  few  remaining  roots  of  the  old  tree ;  it 
swayed  for  a  moment,  turned  over,  and  then  rapidly  drifted 


FILE  NO.  113.  VJ\ 

away.  The  spectators  uttered  a  cry  of  horror  and  pity 
rather  than  of  anger.  "  That  is  the  end  of  him,"  muttered 
one  of  the  gendarmes ;  "  he  is  done  for ;  a  man  can't  fight 
against  the  Rhone  ;  his  body  will  be  washed  ashore  at  Aries 
to-morrow." 

The  hussars  seemed  really  grieved  at  the  tragic  fate  of 
this  brave,  handsome,  young  man,  whom  a  moment  before 
they  had  pursued  so  tenaciously.  They  admired  his 
spirited  resistance,  his  courage,  and  especially  his  resig- 
nation, for,  being  armed,  he  might  have  sold  his  life  dearly. 
True  French  soldiers,  their  sympathies  were  now  all  upon 
the  side  of  the  vanquished,  and  every  man  of  them  would 
have  done  all  in  his  power  to  assist  in  saving  the  drowning 
man,  and  aiding  his  escape. 

"  An  ugly  piece  of  work ! "  grumbled  the  old  sergeant 
who  had  command  of  the  hussars. 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  the  philosophic  corporal,  "  the  Rhone 
is  no  worse  then  the  assize-court.  Right  about  my  men. 
The  thing  that  troubles  me  is  the  idea  of  that  poor  old  man 
who  is  waiting  to  hear  his  son's  fate.  I  would  not  be  the 
one  to  tell  him  what  has  happened.     March  ! " 


XIII. 

Valentine  knew,  that  fatal  evening,  that  Gaston  would 
have  to  walk  to  Tarascon,  to  cross  the  Rhone  by  the  suspen- 
sion bridge  which  connects  Tarascon  with  Beaucaire,  and 
did  not  expect  to  see  him  until  eleven  o'clock,  the  time  which 
they  had  agreed  upon  the  previous  evening.  But,  happen- 
ing to  look  up  at  the  windows  of  Clameran,  long  before  the 
appointed  hour,  she  saw  lights  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the 
different  rooms  in  a  most  unusual  manner.  A  presentiment 
of  impending  misfortune  chilled  her  blood,  and  almost 
stopped  the  beatings  of  her  heart.  A  secret  and  imperious 
voice  within  her  breast  told  her  that  something  terrible 
and  extraordinary  was  going  on  at  the  chateau  of  Cla- 
meran. What  was  it  ?  She  could  not  imagine  ;  but  she 
knew,  she  felt,  that  some  dreadful  misfortune  had  hap- 
pened. With  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  dark  mass  loom- 
ing in  the  distance  she  watched  the  going  and  coming  of 
the  lights,  as  if  their  movements  would  give  her  a  clue  to 
what  was  taking  place  within  those  walls.     She  even  opened 


?72  FILE  NO.  113. 

her  window  and  listened,  as  though  any  tell-tale  sound 
could  reach  her  at  such  a  distance.  Alas !  she  heard 
nothing  but  the  roar  of  the  angry  river.  Her  anxiety  grew 
more  intolerable  every  moment,  when  suddenly  the  well- 
known,  beloved  signal  appeared  in  Gaston's  window,  in- 
forming her  that  her  lover  was  about  to  swim  across  the 
Rhone.  She  could  scarcely  believe  her  eyes,  and  it  was 
not  tiM  ^:he  signal  had  been  repeated  three  times  that  she 
answered  it.  Then,  more  dead  than  alive,  she  hastened 
with  trembling  limbs  through  the  park  to  the  river  bank. 
Never  had  she  seen  the  Rhone  so  furious.  Since  Gaston 
was  risking  his  life  in  order  to  see  her,  she  could  no  long- 
er doubt  that  something  fearful  had  occurred  at  Clameran. 
She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands,  and  her 
wild  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dark  waters,  besought  the  pitiless 
stream  to  yield  up  her  dear  Gaston.  Every  dark  object 
which  she  could  distinguish  floating  in  the  middle  of  the 
torrent  assumed  the  shape  of  a  human  form.  At  one  time 
she  thought  she  heard,  above  the  roaring  of  the  water,  the 
terrible,  agonized  cry  of  a  drowning  man.  She  watched 
and  prayed,  but  her  lover  came  not. 

While  the  gendarmes  and  hussars  slowly  and  silently 
returned  to  the  chateau  of  Clameran,  Gaston  experienced 
one  of  those  miracles  which  would  seem  incredible  were 
they  not  confirmed  by  the  most  convincing  proof.  When 
he  first  plunged  into  the  river,  he^  rolled  over  five  or  six 
times,  and  was  then  drawn  towards  the  bottom.  In  a  swol- 
len river  the  current  is  not  the  same  at  different  depths, 
being  much  stronger  in  some  places  than  in  others;  hence 
the  great  danger.  Gaston  knew  it,  and  guarded  against  it. 
Instead  of  wasting  his  strength  in  vain  struggles,  he  held 
his  breath,  and  let  himself  go  with  the  flood.  It  was  not 
till  he  had  been  carried  some  considerable  distance  that 
he  made  a  sudden  spring  which  brought  him  to  the  surface. 
Rapidly  drifting  by  him  was  the  old  tree.  For  some  sec- 
onds he  was  entangled  in  a  mass  of  rubbish ;  an  eddy  set 
him  free.  He  did  not  dream  of  making  for  the  opposite 
shore.  He  determined  to  land  wheresoever  he  could. 
With  great  presence  of  mind  he  exerted  all  his  strength  and 
dexterity  so  as  to  slowly  and  carefully  take  an  oblique 
course,  knowing  well,  however,  that  there  was  no  hope  for 
him  if  the  current  took  him  crosswise.  This  fearful  cur- 
rent is,  moreover,  as  capricious  as  it  is  terrible ;  which  ao 


FILE  NO.  113.  175 

counts  for  the  strange  effects  of  inundations.  According  to 
the  meanderings  of  the  river,  it  sometimes  rushes  to  the  right, 
and  sometimes  to  the  left,  sparing  one  shore  and  ravaging 
the  other.  Gaston  who  was  familiar  with  every  bend  of  the 
river,  knew  that  there  was  an  abrupt  turning  just  below 
Clameran,  and  relied  upon  the  eddy  formed  thereby,  to 
sweep  him  in  the  direction  of  La  Verberie.  His  expecta- 
tions were  not  deceived.  An  oblique  current  suddenly 
swept  him  towards  the  right  bank,  and,  if  he  had  not  been 
on  his  guard,  would  have  sunk  him.  But  the  eddy  did  not 
reach  as  far  as  Gaston  supposed,  and  he  was  still  some  dis- 
tance from  the  shore,  when,  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning, 
he  was  swept  past  the  park  of  La  Verberie.  As  he  floated 
by,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  shadow  among  the 
trees :  Valentine  was  waiting  for  him.  It  was  not  till  he 
had  been  carried  a  considerable  distance  that,  finding  him- 
self nearer  the  bank,  he  attempted  to  land.  Feeling  a  foot- 
hold, he  twice  raised  himself,  and  was  each  time  thrown 
down  by  the  force  of  the  current.  He  escaped  being  swept 
away  by  seizing  some  willow  branches,  and,  clinging  to 
them,  climbed  up  the  steep  bank.  He  was  safe  at  last. 
Without  waiting  to  take  breath,  he  darted  off  at  once  in  the 
direction  of  the  park.  It  was  time  he  arrived.  CK-ercome 
by  the  intensity  of  her  emotions,  Valentine  had  fainted,  and 
lay  apparently  lifeless  on  the  ground.  Gaston's  kisses 
aroused  her. 

"  You !  "  she  cried  in  a  tone  that  revealed  all  the  love 
she  felt  for  him.  "  Is  it  indeed  you  ?  Then  God  heard 
my  prayers,  and  had  pity  upon  us." 

"  No,  Valentine,"  he  murmured,  "  God  has  had  no  pity." 

The  sad  tones  of  Gaston's  voice  convinced  her  that  her 
presentiment  of  evil  was  well-founded.  "What  new  mis- 
fortune strikes  us  now?"  she  exclaimed.  "Why  have 
you  thus  risked  your  life — a  life  far  dearer  to  me  than 
my  own  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  This  is  what  has  happened,  Valentine  :  our  secret  is  a 
secret  no  longer ;  our  love  is  the  jest  of  the  countr}\" 

She  shrank  back,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
moaned  piteously. 

"This,"  continued  Gaston,  forgetting  everything  but  his 
present  misery;  "this  is  the  result  of  the  blind  enmity  of 
our  families.     Our  noble  and  pure  love,  which  ought   to 


174  FILE  NO.  113. 

be  a  glory  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  man,  has  to  be  con- 
cealed, as  though  it  were  some  evil  deed." 

"  All  is  known,  all  is  discovered  ! "  murmured  Valentine. 

In  the  midst  of  the  angry  elements,  Gaston  had  pre- 
served his  self-possession ;  but  the  heart-broken  tones  of 
his  beloved  Valentine  overcame  him.  "And  I  was  una- 
ble," he  cried,  "  to  crush  the  villains  who  dared  to  utter  youi 
adored  name.  Ah,  why  did  I  only  kill  two  of  the  scoun- 
drels!" 

"  You  have  killed  some  one,  Gaston  !  " 

Valentine's  tone  of  horror  restored  to  Gaston  a  ray  of 
reason.  "  Yes,"  he  replied,  trying  to  overcome  his  emo- 
tion ;  "  I  have  killed  two  men.  It  was  for  that  reason  I 
swam  across  the  Rhone.  I  had  to  save  the  honor  of  my 
name.  Only  a  short  time  ago  all  the  gendarmes  of  the 
place  were  pursuing  me.  I  have  escaped  them,  and  now  I 
am  flying  the  country." 

Valentine  struggled  to  preserve  her  composure  under 
such  unexpected  blows.  "  Where  do  you  hope  to  fly  to  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  know  not.  Indeed,  God  only  knows  where  I  am  to 
go,  and  what  will  become  of  me.  I  must  assume  a  false 
name  and  a  disguise,  and  try  to  reach  some  foreign  land 
which  offers  a  refuge  to  murderers."  Gaston  stopped. 
He  expected  an  answer  to  this  speech.  None  came,  and 
he  resumed  with  extraordinary  vehemence  :  "  And  before 
disappearing,  Valentine,  I  wished  to  see  you,  because  now, 
when  I  am  abandoned  by  every  one  else,  I  have  relied 
upon  you,  and  had  faith  in  your  love.  A  tie  unites  us, 
my  darling,  stronger  than  all  other  earthly  bonds — the  tie  of 
love.  Before  God  you  are  my  wife  ;  I  am  yours  and  you  are 
mine,  for  life  !  Would  you  let  me  fiy  alone,  Valentine  t 
To  the  pam  and  toil  of  exile,  to  the  bitter  regrets  of  a 
ruined  life,  could  you  add  the  torture  of  separation  ? " 

"  Gaston,  I  implore  you — " 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it,"  he  interrupted,  mistaking  the  sense  of 
her  exclamation ;.  "  I  knew  you  would  not  let  me  go 
alone.  I  knew  your  sympathetic  heart  would  long  to 
share  the  burden  of  my  miseries.  This  moment  effaces  the 
wretched  suffering  I  have  endured.  Let  us  fly !  Having  ou: 
happiness  to  defend,  I  fear  nothing;  I  can  brave  and 
conquer  all.  Come,  my  Valentine,  we  will  escape,  or 
die  together !      This    is    the   long-dreamed-of-happiness  ! 


FILE  NC.  113.  Vii 

The  glorious   future   of   love    and   liberty   opens   before 
us!" 

He  had  worked  himself  into  a  state  of  delirious  excite- 
ment. He  seized  Valentine  round  the  wavst,  and  tried  to 
carry  her  off.  But  as  his  exaltation  increased,  she  man- 
aged to  regain  her  composure.  Gently,  and  yet  with  a 
firmness  he  had  not  suspected  her  capable  of,  she  with- 
drew herself  from  his  embrace,  and  said  sadly,  but  reso- 
lutely:  "What  you  wish,  Gaston,  is  impossible." 

This  cold,  inexplicable  resistance  seemed  to  confound 
her  lover.     "  Impossible  "i  "  he  stammered. 

"  You  know  me  well  enough,  Gaston,  to  be  convinced 
that  sharing  the  greatest  hardships  with  you  would  to  me  be 
the  height  of  happiness.  But  above  the  pleading  of  yeur 
voice  to  which  I  fain  would  yield,  above  the  voice  of  my 
own  heart  which  urges  me  to  follow  you,  there  is  another 
voice — a  powerful,  imperious  one — which  bids  me  stay : 
the  voice  of  duty." 

"  What !  Would  you  think  of  remaining  here  after  the 
horrible  affair  of  to-night,  after  the  scandal  that  will  be 
spread  abroad  to-morrow  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  That  I  am  lost,  dishonored  ?  Am 
I  any  more  so  to-day  than  I  was  yesterday  ?  Do  you  think 
that  the  jeers  and  scoffing  of  the  world  could  make  me 
suffer  more  than  the  pangs  of  my  guilty  conscience  .»*  I 
-have  long  since  passed  judgment  upon  myself,  Gaston; 
and,  although  the  sound  of  your  voice  and  the  touch  of  your 
hand  made  me  forget  all  save  the  bliss  of  love,  no  sooner 
had  you  gone  than  I  wept  tears  of  shame  and  remorse." 

Gaston  listened  motionless,  astounded.  He  seemed  to 
see  a  new  Valentine  standing  before  him,  an  entirely  dif- 
lerent  woman  from  the  one  whose  tender  soul  he  thought 
jae  knew  so  well.       '  And  your  mother  1 "  he  murmured. 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  her  that  keeps  me  here.  Do  you  wish 
me  to  prove  an  unnatural  daughter,  and  desert  her  now  that 
she  is  poor,  lonely,  and  friendless,  with  no  one  but  me  to 
cling  to  ?     Could  I  abandon  her  to  follow  my  lover  ? " 

"  But  our  enemies  will  inform  her  of  everything,  Valen- 
tiiie  ;  she  will  know  all." 

"  No  matter.  The  dictates  of  conscience  must  be  obeyed. 
Ah,  why  can  I  not,  even  at  the  price  of  my  life,  spare  her 
the  agony  of  learning  that  her  only  daughter,  her  Val- 
entine, has  disgraced  her  name  \     She  may  be  hard,cruei| 


176  t^ILE  NO.  itj. 

pitiless  towards  me; but  have  I  not  deserved  it?  Oh, 
my  only  friend,  we  have  been  basking  in  a  dream  too 
beautiful  to  last !  I  have  long  dreaded  this  awful  awaken- 
ing. Like  two  weak,  credulous  fools,  we  imagined  that 
happiness  could  exist  beyond  the  pale  of  duty.  Sooner 
or  later  stolen  joys  must  be  dearly  paid  for.  We  must 
bow  our  heads,  and  drink  the  cup  to  the  dregs." 

This  cold  reasoning,  this  sad  resignation,  was  more  than 
Gaston's  fiery  nature  could  bear.  "  Do  not  talk  like 
that  ! "  he  cried.  "  Can  you  not  feel  that  the  bare  idea 
of  your  suffering  this  humiliation  drives  me  mad  }  " 

"  Alas !  I  must  expect  greater  humiliation  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Valentine  .<*  " 

"  Know  then,  Gaston — "  But  she  stopped  short,  hesi- 
tated, and  then  added  :  "  Nothing  !  I  know  not  what  I 
say." 

Had  Gaston  been  less  excited,  he  would  have  suspected 
some  new  misfortune  beneath  Valentine's  reticence ;  but 
his  mind  was  too  full  of  his  one  idea.  "  All  hope  is  not 
lost,"  he  resumed.  "  My  father  is  kind  hearted,  and  was 
touched  by  my  love  and  despair.  I  am  sure  that  my  let- 
ters, together  with  the  intercession  of  my  brother  Louis, 
will  induce  him  to  ask  Madame  de  La  Verberie  for  your 
hand." 

This  notion  seemed  to  terrify  Valentine.  "  Heaven 
forbid ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  that  the  marquis  should  take 
this  rash  step  !  " 

"  Why,  Valentine  ?  " 

"  Because  my  mother  would  reject  his  offer  ;  because,  I 
must  confess  it  now,  she  has  sworn  I  shall  marry  none 
but  a  rich  man ;  and  your  father  is  not  rich." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Gaston  with  disgust,  "  and  it 
is  to  such  a  mother  that  you  sacrifice  me  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  mother ;  that  is  sufficient.  I  have  not  the 
right  to  judge  her.  My  duty  is  to  remain  with  her,  and 
remain  I  shall  " 

Valentine's  manner  showed  such  determined  resolution, 
that  Gaston  saw  that  further  prayers  would  be  in  vain. 

**  Alas  I ''  he  cried,  as  he  wrung  his  hands  with  despair, 
"you  do  not  love  me  ;  you  have  never  loved  me  !  " 

*''  Gaston,  Gaston  !  you  do  not  think  what  you  say  !  '* 

"  If  you  loved  me,"  he  cried  *'  you  could  never,  at  this 
Oioment  of  separation,  have  the  cruel  courage  to  reasou 


FILE  NO.  113  177 

and  calculate  so  coldly.  Ah,  far  different  is  my  love  for 
you.  Without  you  the  world  is  void  ;  to  lose  you  is  to 
die.  So  let  the  Rhone  take  back  this  life,  so  miraculously 
saved  ;  for  it  is  now  a  burden  to  me  !  " 

And  he  would  have  rushed  towards  the  river,  deter- 
mined to  die,  had  Valentine  not  held  him  back.  "  Is  this 
the  way  to  show  your  love  for  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

Gaston  was  absolutely  discouraged.  *'  What  is  the  use 
of  living  ?  "  he  murmured  dejectedly.  "  What  is  left  to 
me  now  ? " 

"  God  is  left  to  us,  Gaston ;  and  in  His  hands  lies  our 
future." 

As  a  shipwrecked  man  seizes  a  rotten  plank  in  his  des- 
peration, so  Gaston  eagerly  caught  at  the  word  "y}////r<?," 
as  a  beacon  m  the  gloomy  darkness  surrounding  him, 
"Your  command  shall  be  obeyed,"  he  cried  with  sudden 
enthusiasm.  "  Away  with  weakness !  Yes,  I  will  live, 
and  struggle,  and  triumph.  Madame  de  La  Verberie 
wants  gold  ;  well,  in  three  years  I  shall  either  be  rich,  of 
dead."  With  clasped  hands  Valentine  thanked  heaven 
for  this  determination,  which  was  more  than  she  had  dared 
hope  for.  *'  But,"  continued  Gaston,  "  before  going  away 
I  wish  to  intrust  a  sacred  deposit  to  your  keeping."  And 
drawing  the  jewels  from  his  pocket  and  handing  them  to 
Valentine,  he  added  :  "  These  jewels  belonged  to  my  poor 
mother ;  you,  alone,  are  worthy  of  wearing  them.  In  my 
thoughts  I  intended  them  for  you."  And  as  she  refused 
to  accept  them,  "  Take  them,"  he  insisted,  "  as  a  pledge 
of  my  return.  If  I  do  not  come  back  within  three  years, 
you  will  know  that  I  am  dead,  and  then  you  must  keep 
them  as  a  souvenir  of  him  who  loved  you  so  fondly."  She 
burst  into  tears,  and  took  the  jewels.  "  And  now,"  re- 
sumed Gaston,  "  I  have  a  last  request  to  make.  Every- 
body believes  me  dead,  but  I  cannot  let  my  poor  old  father 
remain  under  this  impression.  Swear  to  me  that  you  will 
go  yourself  to-morrow  morning,  and  tell  him  that  I  am  still 
alive." 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  she  replied. 

Gaston  felt  that  he  must  now  tear  himself  away  before  his 
courage  failed  him.  He  enveloped  Valentine  in  a  last  fond 
embrace,  and  started  up.  "  What  is  your  plan  of  escape  .?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Marseilles,  and  take  refuge  in  a  friend's 

14 


I'/S  FILE  NO.  113. 

house  until  I  can  procure  a  passage  on  board  some  foreign* 
bound  vessel." 

"  You  must  have  assistance  ;  I  will  secure  you  a  guide 
in  whom  I  have  unbounded  confidence  ;  old  Menoul  who 
lives  near  us.  He  owns  the  boat  which  he  plies  on  the 
Rhone." 

The  lovers  passed  through  the  little  park  gate,  of  which 
Gaston  had  the  key,  and  soon  reached  the  boatman's 
cabin.  He  was  dozing  in  his  easy-chair  by  the  fireside. 
When  Valentine  stood  before  him  with  Gaston,  the  old 
man  jumped  up,  and  kept  rubbing  his  eyes,  thinking  it 
must  be  a  dream.  "  M.  Menoul,"  said  Valentine,  "  M. 
Gaston  is  compelled  to  hide  himself ;  he  wants  to  reach 
the  sea,  so  that  he  can  embark  secretly.  Can  you  take 
him  in  your  boat  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  the  old  man  shaking  his  head  , 
"  I  dare  not  venture  on  the  river  in  its  present  state." 

*'  But,  M.  Menoul,  you  would  be  rendering  an  immense 
service  to  me  ;  would  you  not  venture  for  my  sake  t  " 

"  For  your  sake  ?  certainly  I  would.  Mademoiselle  Val- 
entine ;  I  am  ready  to  start."  He  looked  at  Gaston,  and, 
seeing  his  clothes  wet  and  covered  with  mud,  said  to  him  : 
•'  Allow  me  to  offer  you  some  clothes  of  a  son  of  mine  who 
is  dead,  sir  ;  they  will,  at  least,  serve  as  a  disguise :  come 
this  way." 

In  a  few  minutes  old  Menoul  returned  with  Gaston, 
whom  no  one  would  have  recognized  in  his  sailor  dress. 
Valentine  went  with  them  to  the  place  where  the  boat  was 
moored.  While  the  old  man  was  unfastening  it,  the  dis- 
consolate lovers  tearfully  embraced  each  other  for  the  last 
time.     "  In  three  years,"  cried  Gaston,  "  in  three  years  !  " 

"  Adieu,  mademoiselle,"  interrupted  the  old  boatman  ; 
"  and  you,  sir,  hold  fast,  and  keep  steady."  Then  with  a 
vigorous  shove  of  the  boat-hook  he  sent  the  boat  into  the 
middle  of  the  stream. 

Three  days  later,  thanks  to  the  assistance  of  old  Me- 
noul, Gaston  was  concealed  on  board  the  American  three- 
master,  "  Tom  Jones,"  Captain  Warth,  which  was  to  start 
the  next  day  for  Valparaiso. 


FILE  NO.  113.  179 


XIV. 

Cold  and  white  like  a  marble  statue,  Valentine  stood  on 
the  river-bank,  watching  the  frail  bark  which  was  carrying 
her  lover  away.  It  flev/  along  the  Rhone  like  a  bird  in  a 
tempest,  and  after  a  few  seconds  only  appeared  as  a  black 
speck  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy  fog  which  hung  over  the 
water.  Now  that  Gaston  was  gone,  Valentine  had  no 
motive  for  concealing  her  despair  ;  she  wrung  her  hands 
and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  All  her  forced 
calmness,  her  bravery  and  hopefulness,  were  gone.  She  felt 
crushed  and  lost,  as  if  something  had  been  torn  from  her ; 
as  if  that  swiftly  disappearing  bark  had  carried  off  the 
better  part  of  herself.  For  while  Gaston  treasured  in  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  a  ray  of  hopCj  she  felt  there  was  noth- 
ing to  look  forward  to  but  shame  and  sorrow.  The  horri- 
ble facts  which  stared  her  in  the  face  convinced  her  that 
happiness  in  this  life  was  over ;  the  future  was  worse  than 
blank.  She  wept  and  shuddered  at  the  prospect  She 
slowly  retraced  her  footsteps  through  the  little  gate  which 
had  so  often  admitted  Gaston  ;  and,  as  she  closed  it  be- 
hind her,  she  fancied  she  was  placing  an  impassable  bar- 
rier between  herself  and  happiness.  Before  going  to  her 
room,  Valentine  was  careful  to  walk  round  the  chateau, 
and  examine  the  windows  of  her  mother's  chamber.  They 
were  brilliantly  lighted,  as  usual  at  that  hour,  for  Madame 
de  La  Verberie  passed  a  part  of  the  night  in  reading,  and 
did  not  rise  till  late  in  the  morning.  Enjoying  the  com- 
forts of  life,  which  are  not  expensive  in  the  country,  the 
selfish  countess  disturbed  herself  very  little  about  her 
daughter.  Having  no  fear  for  her  in  their  isolation,  she 
left  her  at  perfect  liberty ;  and,  day  and  night,  Valentine 
might  go  and  come,  and  take  long  walks,  without  her 
mother  making  a  remark. 

But  on  this  night  Valentine  feared  being  seen.  She 
would  be  called  upon  to  explain  the  torn,  muddy  condi- 
tion of  her  dress,  and  what  answer  could  she  give  ?  For- 
tunately she  was  able  to  reach  her  own  room  without  meet- 
ing any  one.  She  longed  for  solitude  in  order  to  collect 
her  thoughts,  and  to  pray  for  strength  to  withstand  the 
angry  storm  about  to  burst  over  her  head.     Seated  before 


io  PILE  NO.  113. 

hei  little  work-table,  she  took  the  purse  of  jewels  from  her 
pocket  and  mechanically  examined  them.  It  would  be  a 
sweet,  sad  comfort  to  wear  the  simplest  of  the  rings,  she 
thought ;  but  could  she  ?  her  mother  would  ask  her  where 
it  came  from.  And  she  would  have  to  deceive  her  again. 
She  kissed  the  purse,  in  memory  of  Gaston,  and  then  con- 
cealed  the  sacred  deposit  at  the  bottom  of  a  drawer.  She 
theri  remembered  that  she  would  have  to  go  to  Clameran, 
to  inform  the  old  marquis  of  the  miraculous  preservation 
of  his  son's  life.  Blinded  by  his  passion,  Gaston  did  not 
think,  when  he  requested  this  service,  of  the  obstacles 
and  dangers  to  be  braved  in  its  performance.  But  Valen- 
tine saw  them  only  too  clearly ;  yet  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
for  an  instant  to  break  her  promise,  or  delay  to  go.  At 
sunrise  she  dressed  herself.  When  the  bell  was  ringing 
for  early  mass,  she  thought  it  a  good  time  to  start  on  her 
errand.  The  servants  were  all  up,  and  one  of  them  named 
Mihonne,  who  always  waited  on  Valentine,  was  scrubbing 
the  hall. 

"  If  my  mother  asks  for  me,"  said  Valentine  to  the  girl, 
"  tell  her  I  have  gone  to  early  mass." 

As  she  often  went  to  church  at  this  hour,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  feared  so  far  ;  Mihonne  said  nothing.  But 
Valentine  knew  that  she  would  have  a  difficulty  in  return- 
ing in  time  for  breakfast,  for  she  would  have  to  walk  a 
league  before  reaching  the  bridge,  and  it  was  another 
league  thence  to  Clameran ;  that  is  four  leagues  there  and 
back.  She  set  forth  at  a  rapid  pace.  The  consciousness 
of  performing  an  extraordinary  action,  and  the  feverish  anx- 
iety of  incurred  peril,  increased  her  haste.  She  forgot 
fatigue,  and  that  she  had  worn  herself  out  with  weeping  all 
night.  In  spite  of  her  efforts,  however,  it  was  past  eight 
o'clock  when  she  reached  the  long  avenue  leading  to  the 
main  entrance  of  the  chateau  of  Clameran.  She  had  only 
proceeded  a  few  steps  along  it,  when  she  saw  old  Jean,  the 
marquis's  valet,  coming  down  the  path.  She  stopped  and 
waited  for  him,  and  he  hastened  his  steps  at  sight  of  her. 
He  looked  very  much  excited,  and  his  eyes  were  swollen 
with  weeping.  To  Valentine's  surprise,  he  did  not  take  off 
his  cap  to  her,  but  accosted  her  most  rudely. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  chdteau,  mademoiselle  ?  '^ 

"  Yes." 

"  If  you  are  going  after  M.  Gaston,"  continued  the  sery« 


FILE  NO.  113.  181 

ant  with  an  Insolent  sneer,  "  you  ai-e  taking  useless 
trouble.  M.  Gaston  is  dead^  mademoiselle  ;  he  sacriticed 
himself  for  a  mistress  he  had." 

Valentine  turned  white  at  this  insult,  but  took  no  notice 
of  it.  Jean,  who  expected  to  see  her  overcome  by  the 
dreadful  news,  was  bewildered  and  indignant  at  her  com- 
posure. "  I  am  going  to  the  chateau,"  she  resumed 
quietly,  "  to  speak  to  the  marquis." 

Jean  stifled  a  sob,  and  said  :  "  Then  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  go  any  further." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Because  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  died  at  five  o'clock 
this  morning." 

Valentine  leaned  against  a  tree  to  prevent  herself  from 
falling.     "  Dead  !  "  she  gasped. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Jean  fiercely,  "yes,  dead  !  "  A  faithful 
servant  of  the  old  regime,  Jean  shared  all  the  passions, 
weaknesses,  friendships,  and  enmities  of  his  master.  He 
had  a  horror  of  the  La  Verberies.  And  now  he  saw  in 
Valentine  the  woman  who  had  caused  the  death  of  the 
marquis  whom  he  had  served  for  forty  years,  and  of  Gas- 
ton whom  he  worshipped.  "  I  will  tell  you  how  he  died," 
continued  the  bitter  old  man.  "  Yesterday  evening,  when 
the  news  reached  the  marquis  that  his  eldest  son  was  dead, 
he  who  was  hardy  as  an  oak  dropped  down  as  if  struck  by 
lightning.  I  was  there.  He  beat  the  air  wildly  with  his 
hands,  and  fell  without  uttering  one  word.  We  put  him  to 
bed,  and  M.  Louis  galloped  into  Tarascon  for  a  doctor. 
But  the  blow  had  struck  too  deeply.  When  Dr.  Raget 
arrived  he  said  there  was  no  hope.  At  daybreak,  the  mar- 
quis recovered  consciousness  enough  to  ask  for  M.  Louis, 
with  whom  he  remained  alone  for  some  minutes.  His 
last  words  were  :  '  Father  and  son  on  the  same  day,  there 
will  be  rejoicing  at  La  Verberie.'  " 

Valentine  might  have  soothed  the  faithful  servant's  sor- 
row by  telling  him  that  Gaston  still  lived ;  but  she  feared 
it  would  be  indiscreet,  and  so,  unfortunately,  she  merely 
said  :  "  Then,  I  must  see  M.  Louis." 

These  words  seemed  to  anger  Jean  the  more.  "  You  !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  You  would  dare  to  take  such  a  step, 
Mademoiselle  de  La  Verberie  ?  W^hat  !  would  you  pre- 
sume to  appear  before  him  after  what  has  happened  ?  I 
wir  never  allow  it !     And  you  had  best,  moreover,  take  m^ 


l82  FILE  NO.  113. 

advice,  and  return  home  at  once.  I  will  not  answer  foT 
the  tongues  of  the  servants  here,  when  they  see  you." 
And,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  hurried  away. 

What  could  Valentine  do  ?  Humiliated  and  miserable, 
she  could  only  wearily  drag  her  aching  limbs  back  the  way 
she  had  so  rapidly  come,  but  a  short  time  before.  On 
the  road,  she  met  many  country  people  coming  from  the 
town,  where  they  had  heard  of  the  events  of  the  previous 
night ;  and  at  every  step  the  poor  girl  was  greeted  with  in- 
sulting looks  and  mocking  bows.  When  she  reached  La 
Verberie,  she  found  Mihonne  watching  for  her. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  girl,  "  make  haste. 
Madame  had  a  visitor  this  morning,  and  ever  since  she  left 
has  been  calling  out  for  you.  Hurry  ;  but  take  care  what 
you  do,  for  she  is  in  a  violent  passion." 

Much  has  been  said  in  favor  of  the  patriarchal  manners 
of  our  ancestors.  Their  manners  may  have  been  patri- 
archal years  and  years  ago  ;  but  our  grandames,  very  dif- 
ferently to  our  women  now-a-days,  had  sharp  wits,  ready 
hands,  and  quick  tongues,  and  were  never  afraid  of  let- 
ting their  actions  suit  their  words  which  were  not  always 
choice.  Madame  de  La  Verberie  had  preserved  the  man- 
ners of  the  good  old  times,  when  grand  ladies  swore  like 
troopers.  When  Valentine  appeared,  she  was  over- 
whelmed with  coarse  epithets  and  violent  abuse.  The  count- 
ess had  been  informed  of  everything,  with  many  gross  addi- 
tions added  by  public  scandal.  An  old  dowager,  her  most 
intimate  friend,  had  hurried  over  early  in  the  morning  to 
offer  her  this  most  poisoned  dish  of  gossip,  seasoned  with 
her  own  pretended  condolences.  In  this  sad  affair, 
Madame  de  La  Verberie  mourned  less  over  her  daughter's 
loss  of  reputation  than  over  the  ruin  of  her  own  projects — ■ 
projects  of  arranging  a  grand  marriage  for  Valentine,  and 
of  herself  living  in  luxury  the  rest  of  her  days.  A  young 
girl  so  compromised  would  not  find  it  easy  to  get  a  hus- 
band. It  would  now  be  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  her 
two  years  longer  in  the  country  before  introducing  her  into 
Parisian  society.  The  wor.M  must  have  time  to  forget 
this  shameful  affair. 

"  You  worthless  wretch  !  "  cried  the  countess,  red  with 
fury ;  "  is  it  thus  you  respect  the  noble  traditions  of  our 
family?  Up  to  now  it  has  never  been  considered  neces- 
sary to  watch  the  La  Verberies ;  they  could  take  care  of 


FILE  NO.  113.  183 

their  honor :  but  it  was  reserved  for  you  to  take  advan- 
tage of  your  liberty  to  lower  yourself  to  the  level  of  those 
harlots  who  are  the  disgrace  of  their  sex  !  "    • 

With  a  sinking  heart,  Valentine  had  foreseen  this  tirade. 
She  felt  that  it  was  only  a  fitting  punishment  for  her  guilty 
love.  Knowing  that  her  mother's  indignation  was  just, 
she  meekly  hung  her  head  like  a  repentant  culprit  at  the 
bar  of  justice.  Eut  this  silence  only  exasperated  the  angry 
countess  the  more.  "  Why  do  you  not  answer  me  ? "  she 
screamed  with  a  threatening  gesture. 

"  What  can  I  say,  mother .''  " 

"  Say,  miserable  girl  ?  Say  that  they  lied  when  they 
accused  a  La  Verberie  of  disgracing  her  name  {  Speak, 
defend  yourself  !  "  Valentine  mournfully  shook  her  head, 
but  said  nothing.  "  It  is  true,  then  !  "  shrieked  the  count- 
ess, beside  herself  with  rage  ;  "  what  they  said  is  true  t  " 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,"  moaned  the  poor  girl ;  "forgive 
me." 

"  What !  Forgive  you  !  I  have  not  then  been  deceived. 
Forgive  you !  Do  you  own  it  then,  you  hussy !  Good 
heavens  !  what  blood  have  you  in  your  veins  ?  Do  3'^ou 
not  know  that  some  faults  should  be  persistently  denied, 
no  matter  how  glaring  the  evidence  against  them  ?  And 
you  are  my  daughter  !  Can  you  not  understand  that  an 
ignominious  confession  like  this  should  never  be  forced 
from  a  woman  by  any  human  power  ?  But  no,  you  have 
lovers,  and  unblushingly  avow  it.  Glory  in  it,  it  would  be 
something  new  ! " 

"  Alas  !  you  are  pitiless,  mother  !  " 

"  Did  you  have  any  pity  for  me,  my  dutiful  daughter  ? 
Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  your  disgrace  might  kill 
me  ?  Ah !  many  a  time,  I  dare  say,  you  and  your  lover 
have  laughed  at  my  blind  confidence.  For  I  had  confi- 
dence in  you  as  in  myself.  I  believed  you  to  be  as  chaste 
and  pure  as  when  I  watched  you  lying  in  your  cradle. 
And  it  has  come  to  this  :  drunken  men  make  a  jest  of  )'Our 
name  in  the  wine  shops,  then  fight  about  you,  and  kill  each 
Other.  I  intrusted  to  you  the  honor  of  our  name,  and 
what  have  you  done  with  it  ?  You  have  given  it  to  the 
first  comer !  "  This  was  too  much  for  Valentine.  The 
words,  "first  comer,"  wounded  her  pride  more  than  all  the 
other  abuse  heaped  upon  her.  She  tried  to  protest  against 
t^is  unrnQrited  insult.    "  Ah,   I  have  inade  9.  riiistak^t 


i84  FILE  NO.  113. 

Your  lover  is  not  the  first  comer,"  said  the  countess. 
"  With  the  number  you  had  to  choose  from,  you  must  fix 
on  the  heir  of  our  enemies  of  a  hundred  years,  Gaston  de 
Clameran.  A  coward,  who  publicly  boasted  of  your  fa- 
vors ;  a  wretch,  who  tried  to  avenge  himself  for  the  hero- 
ism of  our  ancestors  by  ruining  you  and  me — an  old  woman 
and  a  child  !  " 

"  No,  mother,  that  is  false.  He  loved  me,  and,  had  he 
dared  hope  for  your  consent — '* 

"  He  would  have  married  you  ?  Ah  !  never.  I  would 
rather  see  you  fall  lower  than  you  are,  even  to  the  gutter, 
than  know  you  to  be  the  wife  of  such  a  man  !  "  Thus  the 
countess  expressed  her  hatred  very  much  in  the  same 
terms  as  the  old  marquis  had  used  to  his  son.  *'  Besides," 
she  added,  with  a  ferocity  which  only  a  woman  is  capable 
of,  "  besides,  your  lover  is  drowned,  and  the  old  marquis 
is  dead,  so  I  have  been  told.    God  is  just ;  we  are  avenged." 

Old  Jean's  words,  "There  will  be  rejoicing  at  La  Ver- 
berie,"  rung  in  Valentine's  ears  as  she  saw  the  countess's 
eyes  sparkle  with  malignant  joy.  This  was  the  crowning 
blow  for  the  unfortunate  young  girl.  For  half  an  hour 
she  had  been  exerting  all  her  strength  to  bear  up  against 
her  mother's  cruel  violence ;  but  her  physical  endurance 
was  not  equal  to  the  task.  She  turned,  if  possible,  paler, 
and  with  half-closed  eyes  extended  her  arms  as  though  to 
find  some  support,  and  fell,  striking  her  head  against  a 
side  table.  It  was  with  dry  eyes  that  the  countess  beheld 
her  daughter  stretched  at  her  feet.  Her  vanity  was  deeply 
wounded,  but  no  other  emotion  disturbed  her.  Her's  was 
a  heart  so  full  of  anger  and  hatred  that  there  was  no  room 
for  any  noble  sentiment.  Seemg,  however,  that  Valentine 
remained  unconscious,  she  rang  the  bell ;  and  the  affrighted 
maid-servants,  who  were  trembling  in  the  passage  at  the 
loud  and  angry  tones  of  the  voice  they  all  dreaded,  came 
running  in. 

"  Carry  mademoiselle  to  her  room,"  she  ordered  ;  "  lock 
her  in,  and  bring  me  the  key." 

The  countess  intended  keeping  Valentine  a  close  pris- 
oner for  a  long  time.  She  well  knew  the  mischievous, 
gossiping  propensities  of  country  people,  who,  from  mere 
idleness,  indulge  in  limitless  scandal.  A  poor  fallen  girl 
must  eidier  leave  the  place,  or  drink  to  the  very  dregs  the 
cl^ig^  of  premeditated  humiliation   and  brutiU  irony. 


FILE  NO.  113.  185 

Each  one  delights  in  casting  a  stone  at  her.  But  the 
countess's  plans  were  destined  to  be  baffled.  The  servants 
came  to  tell  her  that  Valentine  had  recovered  conscious- 
ness, but  seemed  to  be  very  ill.  She  replied  that  it  was 
all  pretence  ;  whereupon  Mihonne  insisted  upon  her  go- 
ing up  and  judging  for  herself.  She  unwillingly  went  to 
her  daughter's  room,  and  perceived  that  something  serious 
was  the  matter.  However,  she  betrayed  no  apprehension, 
but  sent  to  Tarascon  for  Dr.  Raget,  who  was  the  oracle  of 
the  neighborhood ;  it  was  he  who  had  been  called  in  to 
see  the  Marquis  de  Clameran.  Dr.  Raget  was  one  of  those 
men  who  leave  a  blessed  memory,  which  lives  long  after 
their  departure  from  this  world.  Intelligent  and  noble- 
hearted,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  art ;  wealthy,  he  never 
demanded  to  be  paid  for  his  services.  At  all  hours  of  the 
night  and  day,  his  gray  horse  and  old  cabriolet  might  be 
seen  along  the  roads,  with  a  hamper  of  wine  and  soup  un- 
der the  seat  for  his  poorer  patients.  He  was  a  little,  bald- 
headed  man  of  fifty,  with  a  quick,  bright  eye,  and  pleasant 
face.  The  servant  fortunately  found  him  at  home,  and 
brought  him  back  with  him.  On  beholding  Valentine, 
the  doctor's  face  assumed  a  most  serious  expression.  En* 
dowed  with  profound  perspicacity,  quickened  by  practice, 
he  studied  the  young  girl  and  her  mother  alternately  ;  and 
the  penetrating  gaze  which  he  fixed  on  the  old  countess  so 
disconcerted  her  that  she  felt  her  wrinkled  face  turning 
very  red. 

"  This  child  is  very  ill,"  he  said,  at  length.  And  as 
Madame  de  La  Verberie  made  no  reply,  he  added  :  "  I 
desire  to  remain  alone  with  her  for  a  few  minutes." 

The  countess  dared  not  resist  the  authority  of  a  man  of 
Dr.  Raget's  character  and  reputation,  and  retired  to  the 
next  room,  apparently  calm,  but  in  reality  disturbed  by  the 
most  gloomy  forebodings.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour — it 
seemed  a  century — the  doctor  entered  the  room  where  she 
was  waiting.  He,  who  had  witnessed  so  much  suffering 
and  misery,  appeared  deeply  affected. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  countess. 

"You  are  a  mother,  madame,"  he  answered  sadly — ^ 
"  that  is  to  say  your  heart  is  full  of  indulgence  and  pardoa 
Summon  all  your  courage.  Mademoiselle  Valentine  will 
soon  become  a  mother." 

"  The  worthless  creature  I     I  feared  as  much." 


iS6  FILE  NO.  113. 

The  doctor  was  shocked  at  the  dreadful  expression  of 
the  countess's  eye.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and 
giving  her  a  penetrating  look,  beneath  which  she  instantly 
quailed,  he  added;  "And  the  child  must  live." 

The  doctor's  suspicions  were  correct.  A  dreadful  idea 
had  flashed  across  Madame  de  La  Verberie's  mind — the 
idea  of  destroying  this  child  which  would  be  a  living  proof 
of  Valentine's  sin.  Feeling  that  her  evil  intention  was 
divined,  the  proud,  stern  woman's  eyes  fell  beneath  the 
doctor's  obstinate  gaze.  "  I  do  not  understand  you,  Dr. 
Raget,"  she  murmured. 

"  But  I  know  what  I  mean,  madame ;  and  I  simply 
wished  to  tell  you  that  a  crime  does  not  obliterate  a  fault." 

"Doctor!" 

"  I  merely  say  what  I  think,  madame.  If  I  was  mis- 
taken in  my  impression,  so  much  the  better  for  you.  At 
present,  your  daughter's  condition  is  serious,  but  not 
dangerous.  Excitement  and  distress  of  mind  have  un- 
strung her  nerves,  and  she  is  now  in  a  high  fever-  which 
I  hope  soon  to  allay." 

The  countess  saw  that  the  old  doctor's  suspicions  were 
not  dispelled ;  so  she  thought  she  would  try  maternal 
anxiety,  and  said  :  "  At  least,  doctor,  you  can  assure  me 
that  the  dear  child's  life  is  not  in  danger  1  " 

"  No,  madame,"  answered  Dr.  Raget,  with  cutting  irony, 
"your  maternal  tenderness  need  not  be  alarmed.  All  the 
poor  child  needs  is  rest  of  mind,  which  you  alone  can  give 
her.  A  few  kind  words  from  you  will  do  her  more  good 
than  all  my  prescriptions.  But  remember,  madame,  that 
the  least  shock  of  nervous  excitement  will  produce  the 
most  fatal  consequences." 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  the  countess,  hypocritically, 
"  that  I  was  unable  to  control  my  anger  upon  first  hear- 
ing that  my  darling  child  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a  vile  se^ 
ducer." 

"  But  now  that  the  first  shock  is  over,  madame,  being  a 
mother  and  a  Christian,  you  will  do  your  duty.  My  duty 
is  to  save  your  daughter  and  her  child,  and  I  will  do  so. 
I  will  call  to-morrow." 

Madame  de  La  Verberie  had  no  idea  of  letting  the  doc- 
tor go  off  in  this  way.  She  motioned  him  to  stay,  and, 
without  reflecting  that  she  was  betraying  herself,  ex- 
claimed :  "  Do  you  pretend  to  say,  sir,  that  you  will  pre- 


FILE  NO.  113.  187 

vent  my  taking  every  means  to  conceal  the  .  terrible 
misfortune  that  has  fallen  upon  me  ?  Do  you  wish  our 
shame  to  be  made  public — to  make  us  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  neighborhood  ? "  , 

The  doctor  remained  a  moment  withoijt  answering  ;  the 
condition  of  affairs  was  serious.  "  No,  madame,"  he  at 
length  replied  ;  "  I  cannot  prevent  your  leaving  La  Ver- 
berie — that  would  be  overstepping  my  duty  ;  but  I  rayst 
hold  you  to  account  for  the  child.  You  are  at  liberty-^ 
go  where  you  please ;  but  you  must  give  me  proof  of  the 
child's  being  alive,  or  at  least  that  no  attempt  was  made  ^ 
against  its  life." 

After  uttering  these  threatening  words  he  left  the  house, 
and  it  was  in  good  time,  for  the  countess  was  choking  with 
suppressed  rage.  "  Insolent  upstart !  "  she  cried,  "  to  pre- 
sume to  dictate  to  a  woman  of  my  rank !  Ah,  if  I  were 
not  completely  at  his  mercy !  "  But  she  was  in  his  power, 
and  she  knew  well  enough  that  she  must  forever  bid  adieu 
to  all  her  ambitious  plans.  No  more  hopes  of  luxury, 
of  a  millionaire-son-in-law,  of  splendid  carriages,  rich 
dresses,  and  charming  card  parties,  where  she  could  gamble 
to  her  heart's  content.  She  would  have  to  die  as  she  had 
lived,  poor,  neglected,  condemned  to  a  life  of  privation, 
all  the  harder  to  bear  as  she  would  no  longer  have  a 
brighter  future  to  look  forward  to.  And  it  was  Valentine 
who  brought  this  misery  upon  her.  This  reflection  aroused 
all  her  inherent  bitterness,  and  she  felt  for  her  daughter 
one  of  those  implacable  hatreds  which,  instead  of  becom- 
ing appeased,  are  strengthened  by  time.  She  wished  she 
could  see  her  lying  dead  before  her,  and  the  accursed  in- 
fant as  well.  But  she  remembered  the  doctor's  threaten- 
ing look,  and  dared  not  attempt  anything.  She  even  forced 
herself  to  go  and  say  a  few  forgiving  words  to  Valen- 
tine, and  then  left  her  to  the  care  of  the  faithful  Mihonne. 

Poor  Valentine  !  She  had  suffered  so  much  that  she 
had  lost  all  power  of  action.  She  was,  however,  getting 
better.  She  felt  that  dull,  heavy  sensation,  almost  free 
from  pain,  which  always  follows  violent  mental  or  physical 
suffering.  When  she  was  able  to  reflect,  she  thought  to 
herself :  "  Well,  it  is  over  ;  my  mother  know^s  everything. 
I  have  no  longer  her  anger  to  fear,  and  must  trust  to  time 
for  her  forgiveness."  This  was  the  secret  which  Valentine 
had  been  unwilling  to  reveal  to  Gaston,  because  she  i^\\ 


i88  FILE  NO.  113. 

certain  that  he  would  refuse  to  leave  her  if  he  knew  it 
But  she  wished  him  to  escape  ;  and  duty  at  the  same  time 
bade  her  remain.  Even  now  she  did  not  regret  having 
done  so. 

The  only  thought  which  distressed  her  was  Gaston's 
danger.  Had  he  succeeded  in  embarking  ?  How  could 
she  find  out  ?  For  two  days  the  doctor  had  allowed  her  to 
get  up  ;  but  she  could  not  possibly  walk  as  far  as  old 
Menoul's  cabin.  Happily,  the  devoted  old  boatman  was 
intelligent  enough  to  anticipate  her  wishes.  Hearing  that 
the  young  lady  at  the  chateau  was  very  ill,  he  set  about/ 
devising  some  means  of  informing  her  of  her  friend's 
safety.  He  went  to  La  Verberie  several  times  on  pre- 
tended errands,  and  finally  succeeded  in  seeing  Valentine. 
They  were  not  alone,  so  he  could  not  speak  to  her  ;  but  he 
made  her  understand  by  a  significant,  look  that  Gaston 
was  out  of  danger.  This  knowledge  contributed  more 
towards  Valentine's  recovery  than  all  the  medicines  ad- 
ministered by  the  doctor,  who,  after  visiting  her  daily  for 
six  weeks,  at  length  pronounced  his  patient  sufficiently 
strong  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  a  journey.  The  countess 
had  waited  with  the  greatest  impatience  for  this  decision. 
In  order  to  prevent  any  delay,  she  had  already  realized 
half  of  her  capital  at  a  loss,  and  said  to  herself  that  the 
sum  thus  raised,  some  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  would 
suffice  for  all  contingent  expenses.  For  a  fortnight  she 
had  been  calling  on  all  her  friends,  saying  that  as  soon  as 
her  daughter  had  recovered  her  health  she  meant  to  take 
her  to  England  to  visit  a  rich  old  relation,  who  had  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  see  her. 

Valentine  looked  forward  to  this  journ«y  with  terror, 
and  shuddered  when  her  mother  said  to  her,  on  the  even- 
ing that  the  doctor  gave  her  permission  to  set  out :  "  We 
shall  start  the  day  after  to-morrow."  Only  one  day  left ! 
And  Valentine  had  been  unable  to  let  Louis  de  Clameran 
know  that  his  brother  was  still  living.  In  this  extremity 
she  was  obliged  to  confide  in  Mihonne,  and  sent  her  with 
a  letter  to  Louis.  But  the  faithful  servant  had  a  useless 
walk.  The  chateau  of  Clameran  was  deserted ;  all  the 
servants  had  been  dismissed,  and  M.  Louis,  whom  they 
now  called  the  marquis,  had  gone  away. 

At  last  they  started.  Madame  de  La  Verberie,  feeling 
that  she  could  trust  Mihonne,  decided  to  take  her  with 


FILE  NO.  113.  189 

them,  after  making  her  swear  eternal  secrecy.  It  was  in 
a  little  village  near  London  that  the  countess,  under  the 
assumed  name  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  took  up  her  abode  with 
her  daughter  and  maid-servant.  She  selected  England, 
because  she  had  lived  there  a  long  time,  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  people,  and 
spoke  their  language  as  well  as  she  did  her  own.  She 
had  kept  up  an  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  English 
nobility,  and  often  dined  and  went  to  the  theatre  with  ber 
friends  in  London.  On  these  occasions  she  always  took 
the  humiliating  precaution  of  locking  Valentine  in  ber 
room.  It  was  in  their  sad,  solitary  house,  one  night  in 
the  month  of  May,  that  the  son  of  Valentine  de  La  Ver- 
berie  was  born.  He  was  taken  to  the  parish  priest,  and 
christened  Valentin  Raoul  Wilson.  The  countess  had 
prepared  everything,  and  for  five  hundred  pounds  had  en- 
gaged an  honest  farmer's  wife  to  bring  the  child  up  as  her 
own,  and,  when  old  enough,  have  him  taught  a  trade. 
Little  Raoul  was  handed  over  to  her  a  few  hours  after  his 
birth.  The  good  woman  thought  him  the  child  of  an  Eng- 
lish lady,  and  there  seemed  no  probability  that  he  would 
ever  discover  the  secret  of  his  birth.  Restored  to  con- 
sciousness, Valentine  asked  for  her  child.  She  yearned  to 
clasp  it  to  her  bosom  ;  but  the  cruel  countess  was  pitiless. 
"Your  child!"  she  cried,  "I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean  ;  you  must  be  dreaming;  you  are  mad  !"  And  as 
Valentine  persisted,  she  replied  :  "  Your  child  is  safe,  and 
will  want  for  nothing ;  let  that  suffice.  You  must  forget 
what  has  happened,  as  you  would  forget  a  painful  dream. 
The  past  must  be  wiped  out  forever.  You  know  me  well 
enough  to  understand  that  I  mean  to  be  obeyed." 

The  moment  had  come  when  Valentine  ought  in  some 
degree  to  have  resisted  the  countess's  continually  increas- 
ing tyranny.  She  had  the  idea,  but  not  the  courage  to  do 
so.  If,  on  one  side,  she  saw  the  dangers  of  almost  culpa- 
ble resignation — for  she,  too,  was  a  mother  ! — on  the  other 
she  felt  crushed  by  the  consciousness  of  her  guilt.  She 
yielded ;  and  surrendered  herself  forever  into  the  hands 
of  a  mother  whose  conduct  she  refrained  from  questioning, 
to  escape  the  necessity  of  condemning  it.  So  much  suf- 
fering, so  many  regrets  and  internal  struggles,  for  a  long 
time  delayed  her  recovery,  but  towards  the  end  of  June, 
the  countess  took  her  back  to  La  Verberie,     This  tim.e 


igo  FILE  NO,  113.  "■ 

the  mischief-makers  and  gossips  were  not  so  sharp  as  us- 
ual. The  countess  went  about,  complaining  of  the  bad 
success  of  her  trip  to  England,  and  was  able  to  assure  her- 
self that  no  one  suspected  her  real  reason  for  the  journey. 
Only  one  man.  Dr.  Raget,  knew  the  truth  ;  and,  although 
Madame  de  La  Verberie  hated  him  from  the  bottom  of 
her  heart,  she  did  him  the  justice  to  feel  sure  that  he  would 
not  prove  indiscreet. 

Her  first  visit  was  paid  to  him.  When  he  entered  the 
room,  she  abruptly  threw  on  the  table  the  official  docu- 
ments which  she  had  procured  especially  for  this  purpose. 
"  These  will  prove  to  you,  sir,  that  the  child  is  living,  and 
well  cared  for  at  a  cost  that  I  can  ill  afford." 

"  These  are  perfectly  correct,  madame,"  he  replied, 
after  an  attentive  examination  of  the  papers,  "  and,  if  your 
conscience  does  not  reproach  you,  of  course  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say." 

"  My  conscience  reproaches  me  with  nothing,  sir." 

The  old  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  gazing  searchingly 
into  her  eyes,  retorted  :  "  Can  you  say  that  you  have  not 
been  harsh,  even  to  cruelty  ?  " 

She  turned  away  her  head,  and,  assuming  her  grand 
air,  answered :  "  I  have  acted  as  a  woman  of  my  rank 
should  act ;  and  I  am  surprised  to  find  in  you  an  advocate 
of  misconduct." 

"  Ah,  madame,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it  is  your  place  to 
show  kindness  to  the  poor  girl.  What  indulgence  do  you 
expect  from  strangers  towards  your  unhappy  daughter, 
when  you,  her  mother,  are  so  pitiless  ? " 

Such  plain-spoken  truths  were  more  than  the  countess 
cared  to  hear,  and  she  rose  to  leave.  "  Is  that  all  that 
you  have  to  say  to  me.  Dr.  Raget .''  "  she  asked  haughtily. 

"  Yes,  madame  ;  I  have  done.  My  only  object  was  to 
spare  you  eternal  remorse." 

The  good  doctor  was  mistaken  in  his  idea  of  Madame 
de  La  Verberie's  character.  She  was  utterly  incapable  of 
feeling  remorse ;  but  she  suffered  cruelly  when  her  selfish 
vanity  was  wounded,  or  her  comfort  disturbed.  She  re- 
sumed her  old  mode  of  living,  but,  having  disposed  of  a 
part  of  her  income,  found  it  difficult  to  make  both  ends 
meet.  This  furnished  her  with  an  inexhaustible  text  for 
complaint;  and  at  every  meal  she  reproached  Valentine 
Tpost  unmercifully.     She  seemed  to  forget  her  C'\vn  com 


FILE  NO.  113.  191 

mand,  that  the  past  should  be  buried  in  oblivion,  and  con- 
stantly recurred  to  it  for  food  for  her  anger  ;  a  day  seldom 
passed,  without  her  saying  to  Valentine  :  "  Your  conduct 
has  ruined  us." 

One  day  her  daughter  could  not  refrain  from  replying : 
"  I  suppose  you  would  have  forgiven  me,  had  it  enriched 
us."  But  these  revolts  on  Valentine's  part  were  rare,  al- 
though her  life  was  a  series  of  tortures  inflicted  with  most 
refined  cruelty.  Even  the  memory  of  Gaston  had  become 
a  suffering.  Perhaps,  discovering  the  uselessness  of  her 
sacrifice,  of  her  courage,  and  her  devotion  to  what  she  had 
considered  her  duty,  she  regretted  not  having  followed 
him.  What  had  become  of  him  1  Why  had  he  not  con- 
trived to  send  her  a  letter,  a  word  to  let  her  know  that  he 
was  still  alive  ?  Perhaps  he  was  dead.  Perhaps  he  had 
forgfotten  her.  He  had  sworn  to  return  a  rich  man  before 
three  years  had  passed.  Would  he  ever  return  ?  There 
was  a  risk  in  his  returning  under  any  circumstances.  His 
disappearance  had  not  put  an  end  to  the  terrible  affair  at 
Tarascon.  He  was  supposed  to  be  dead ;  but,  as  there 
was  no  positive  proof  of  his  death,  and  his  body  could  not 
be  found,  justice  was  compelled  to  listen  to  the  clamor 
of  public  opinion.  The  case  was  brought  before  the  as- 
size court;  and  Gaston  de  Clameran  was  contumaciously 
sentenced  to  several  years'  imprisonment.  As  to  Louis 
de  Clameran,  no  one  knew  positively  what  had  become  of 
him.  Some  people  said  he  was  leading  a  life  of  reckless 
extravagance  at  Paris.  Informed  of  these  facts  by  her 
faithful  Mihonne,  Valentine  became  more  hopeless  than 
ever.  Vainly  did  she  question  the  dreary  future  ;  no  ray 
appeared  upon  the  dark  horizon  of  her  life.  All  her  en- 
ergy was  gone  ;  and  she  finally  reached  that  state  of  pas- 
sive resignation  peculiar  to  people  who  are  constantly  op- 
pressed. 

In  this  miserable  way,  four  years  passed  since  the  fatal 
evening  when  Gaston  had  escaped  in  old  Menoul's  boat. 
Madame  de  La  Verberie  had  spent  these  four  years  most 
unprofitably.  Seeing  that  she  could  not  live  upon  her  in- 
come, and  having  too  much  false  pride  to  sell  her  land, 
which  was  so  badly  managed  that  it  did  not  even  bring  her 
in  two  per  cent,  she  resigned  herself  to  borrowing  and 
spent  her  capital  with  her  income.  As  in  such  matters,  it 
is  only  the  first  step  that  costs,  the  countess  soon  made 


192  FILE  NO.  113. 

rapid  strides,  saying  to  herself,  like  the  late  Marqms  de 
Clameran  :  "After  me,  the  deluge!"  She  no  IcMger 
thought  of  anything  but  taking  her  ease.  She  had  fre- 
quent "  at  homes,"  and  paid  many  visits  to  the  neighbor- 
ing towns  of  Nimes  and  Avignon  ;  she  sent  to  Paris  for 
the  most  elegant  toilets,  and  indulged  her  taste  for  good 
living.  She  allowed  herself  all  the  luxury  that  she  had 
hoped  to  obtain  by  the  acquisition  of  a  rich  son-in-law. 
Great  sorrows  require  consolation  !  The  first  year  after 
she  returned  from  London,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  treat 
herself  to  a  horse  ;  it  was  rather  old,  to  be  sure,  but,  when 
harnessed  to  a  second-hand  carriage  bought  on  credit  at 
Beaucaire,  made  quite  a  good  appearance.  She  would 
quiet  her  conscience,  which  occasionally  reproached  her 
for  this  constant  extravagance,  by  saying  :  "  I  am  so  un- 
happy !  "  The  unhappiness  was  that  this  seeming  luxury 
cost  her  dear,  very  dear.  After  having  sold  the  rest  of 
her  bonds,  the  countess  first  mortgaged  the  estate  of  La 
Verberie,  and  then  the  chateau  itself.  And  in  less  than 
four  years  she  owed  more  than  forty  thousand  francs,  and 
was  unable  even  to  pay  the  interest  of  her  debt. 

She  was  racking  her  mind  to  discover  some  means  of 
escape  from  her  difhculties,  when  chance  came  to  her  res- 
cue. For  some  time  a  young  engineer,  employed  in  sur- 
veys along  the  Rhone,  had  made  the  village  close  to  La 
Verberie  the  centre  of  his  operations.  Being  handsome, 
agreeable,  and  of  polished  manners,  he  had  been  warmly 
welcomed  by  the  neighboring  society,  and  the  countess 
frequently  met  him  at  the  houses  of  her  friends  where  she 
went  to  play  cards  of  an  evening.  This  young  engineer 
was  named  Andre  Fauvel.  The  first  time  he  met  Valen- 
tine he  was  struck  by  her  beauty,  and  after  once  looking 
into  her  large,  melancholy  eyes,  his  admiration  deepened 
into  love,  though  he  had  not  even  spoken  to  her.  He  was 
well  off ;  a  splendid  career  was  open  to  him  ;  he  was  free  ; 
and  he  swore  that  Valentine  should  be  his.  It  was  to  an 
old  friend  of  Madame  de  La  Verberie,  as  noble  as  a  Mont- 
morency and  as  poor  as  Job,  that  he  first  confided  his 
matrimonial  plans.  With  the  precision  of  a  graduate  of 
the  polytechnic  school,  he  enumerated  all  his  qualifica- 
tions for  being  a  model  son-in-law.  For  a  long  time  the 
old  lady  listened  to  him  without  interruption  ;  but,  when 
he  had  finished,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  him   that   hia 


FILE  NO.  113.  193 

pretensions  were  most  presumptuous.  What!  he,  a  man 
of  no  pedigree,  a  Fauvel,  a  common  surveyor,  to  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  a  La  Verberie  !  After  having  enumerated  all 
the  superior  advantages  of  that  superior  order  of  beings, 
the  nobility,  she  condescended  to  take  a  common-sense 
view  of  the  case,  and  said  :  "  However,  you  may  succeed. 
The  poor  countess  owes  money  in  every  direction  ;  scarcely 
a  day  passes  without  the  bailiffs  calling  upon  her ;  so  that, 
you  understand,  if  a  rich  suitor  appeared,  and  agreed  to 
her  terms  respecting  the  settlements, — well,  well,  there  is 
no  knowing  what  might  happen." 

Andrd  Fauvel  was  young;  the  old  lady's  insinuations 
seemed  to  him  odious.  On  reflection,  however,  when  he 
had  studied  the  character  of  the  nobility  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  were  rich  in  nothing  but  prejudices,  he  clearly 
saw  that  pecuniary  considerations  alone  would  be  strong 
enough  to  induce  the  proud  Countess  de  La  Verberie  to 
grant  him  her  daughter's  hand.  This  certainty  ended  his 
hesitations,  and  he  turned  his  whole  attention  to  devising 
a  plan  for  presenting  his  claim.  He  did  not  find  this  an 
easy  thing  to  accomplish.  To  go  m  quest  of  a  wife  with 
her  purchase-money  in  his  hand,  was  repugnant  to  his  feel- 
ings, and  contrary  to  his  ideas  of  delicacy.  But  he  knew 
no  one  who  could  undertake  the  matter  for  him,  and  his 
love  was  strong  enough  to  make  him  swallow  his  repug- 
nance. The  occasion  so  anxiously  awaited,  to  explain  his 
intentions,  soon  presented  itself. 

One  day  as  he  entered  a  hotel  at  Beaucaire  to  dine,  he 
saw  Madame  de  La  Verberie  about  to  seat  herself  at  the 
table.  He  blushed  deeply,  and  asked  permission  to  sit 
beside  her,  which  was  granted  him  with  a  most  encourag- 
ing smile.  Did  the  countess  suspect  the  love  of  the  young 
engineer  ?  Had  she  been  warned  by  her  friend  ?  Per- 
haps so.  At  any  rate,  without  giving  Andre  time  to  gradu- 
ally approach  the  subject  weighing  on  his  mind,  she  began 
to  complain  of  the  hard  times,  the  scarcity  of  money,  and 
the  grasping  meanness  of  the  tradespeople.  The  truth  is, 
she  had  come  to  Beaucaire  to  borrow  money,  and  had 
found  every  cash-box  closed  against  her  ;  and  her  lawyer 
had  advised  her  to  sell  her  land  for  what  it  would  bring. 
Anger  joined  to  that  secret  instinct  of  the  situation  of  af- 
fairs which  is  the  sixth  sense  of  a  woman,  loosened  her 
tongue,  and  made  her  m  jre  communicative  to  this  compara- 


194  P^LE  NO.  113. 

tive  stranger,  than  she  had  ever  been  to  her  bosom  friends. 
She  explained  to  him  the  horror  of  her  situation,  her  pres- 
ent needs,  her  anxiety  for  the  future,  and  above  all,  her 
great  distress  at  not  being  able  to  marry  off  her  beloved 
daughter.  Andre  listened  to  these  complaints  with  becom- 
ing commiseration,  but  in  reality  he  was  delighted.  With- 
out giving  her  time  to  finish  her  tale,  he  began  to  state 
what  he  called  his  view  of  the  matter.  He  said  that,  al- 
though he  sympathized  deeply  with  the  countess,  he  could 
not  account  for  her  uneasiness  about  her  daughter.  What  "t 
Could  she  be  disturbed  at  having  no  dowry  for  her  .''  Why, 
the  rank  and  beauty  of  Mademoiselle  Valentine  were  a 
fortune  in  themselves,  of  which  any  man  might  be  proud. 
He  knew  more  than  one  man  w^ho  would  esteem  himself 
only  too  happy  if  Mademoiselle  Valentine  would  accept 
his  name,  and  confer  upon  him  the  sweet  duty  of  relieving 
her  mother  from  all  anxiety  and  care.  Finally,  he  did 
not  think  the  situation  of  the  countess's  affairs  nearly  so 
desperate  as  she  imagined.  How  much  money  w^ould  be 
necessar}'  to  pay  off  the  mortgages  upon  La  Verberie  ? 
About  forty  thousand  francs,  perhaps  t  Indeed  !  That 
was  but  a  mere  trifle.  Besides,  this  sum  would  not  be  a 
gift  from  the  son-in-law,  but  only  a  loan,  because  the  es- 
tate would  be  his  in  the  end,  and  greatly  increased  in 
value.  A  man,  too,  worthy  of  Valentine's  love  could 
never  let  his  wife's  mother  want  for  the  comforts  and  lux- 
uries due  to  a  lady  of  her  age,  rank,  and  misfortunes.  He 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  offer  her  a  sufficient  income,  not 
only  to  provide  comfort,  but  even  luxur}^ 

As  Andre  spoke  in  a  tone  too  earnest  to  be  assumed, 
it  seemed  to  the  countess  that  a  celestial  dew  was  drop- 
ping upon  her  pecuniary  wounds.  Her  countenance  was 
radiant  with  joy,  her  fierce  little  eyes  beamed  with  the 
most  encouraging  tenderness,  her  thin  lips  were  wreathed 
in  the  most  friendly  smiles.  One  thought  alone  disturbed 
the  young  engineer.  "  Does  she  understand  me .''  Does 
she  think  I'm  serious  ?"  he  wondered.  She  certainly  did, 
as  her  subsequent  remarks  proved.  "  Alas  !  "  she  sighed, 
"  forty  thousand  francs  will  not  save  La  Verberie ;  the 
principal  and  interest  of  the  debt  amount  to  at  least  sixty 
thousand." 

"Oh,  either  forty  or  sixty  thousand  is  nothing  worth 
speaking  of," 


FILE  N'O.  \\%.  195 

—Then  my  son-in-law,  the  phoenix  we  are  supposing, 
would  he  have  the  forethought  to  provide  for  my  require- 
ments ? " 

"  I  should  fancy  he  would  be  delighted  to  add  four 
thousand  francs  to  the  income  you  derive  from  your  es' 
tate." 

The  countess  did  not  reply  at  once,  she  was  calculating. 
"  Four  thousand  francs  is  not  much,"  she  said  after  a 
pause.  "  Everything  is  so  dear  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try !  But  with  six  thousand  francs — yes,  six  thousand 
francs  would  make  me  happy !  " 

The  young  man  thought  that  her  demands  were  becom- 
ing excessive,  but  with  the  generosity  of  an  ardent  lover, 
he  replied  :  "  The  son-in-law  of  whom  we  are  speaking 
would  not  be  very  devoted  to  Mademoiselle  Valentine,  if 
the  paltry  sum  of  two  thousand  francs  caused  him  to  hesi- 
tate." 

"  You  promise  too  much !  "  murmured  the  countess. 
A  sudden  objection,  however,  occurred  to  her.  "  But 
this  imaginary  son-in-law,"  she  remarked,  "  must  be  pos- 
sessed of  the  means  to  fulfil  his  promises.  I  have  my 
daughter's  happiness  too  much  at  heart  to  give  her  to  a 
man  who  did  not  produce — what  do  you  call  them  .'* — secu- 
rities, guarantees." 

"  Decidedly,"  thought  Fauvel  with  mortification,  "  we 
are  making  a  bargain."  Then  he  added  aloud :  "  Of 
course,  your  son-in-law  would  bind  himself  in  the  marriage 
contract  to — " 

"  Never  ! — sir,  never  !  Think  of  the  impropriety  of  the 
thing  !     What  would  the  world  say  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  it  would  be  stated  that  it  was  the  interest 
of  a  sum  received  from  you." 

"  Ah  !  yes  that  might  do  very  well." 

The  countess  insisted  upon  seeing  Andrd  home  in  her 
carriage.  During  the  drive,  no  definite  plan  was  agreed 
upon  beween  them ;  but  they  understood  each  other  so 
well,  that,  when  the  countess  set  the  young  engineer  down 
at  his  own  door,  she  invited  him  to  dinner  the  next  day, 
and  held  out  her  skinny  hand,  which  Andr^  kissed  with 
devotion  as  he  thought  of  Valentine's  pretty  eyes.  When 
Madame  de  La  Verberie  returned  home,  the  servants  were 
dumb  with  astonishment  at  her  good  humor;  they  had  not 
seen  her  in  this  happy  frame  of  mind  for  years.     And  h':r 


196  FILE  NO.  113. 

day*s  work  was  of  a  nature  to  elevate  her  spirits :  she  had 
been  most  unexpectedly  raised  from  a  very  difficult  posi- 
tion to  affluence.  She,  who  boasted  of  such  proud  senti- 
ments, never  perceived  the  shame  of  the  transaction  nor 
the  infamy  of  her  conduct.  "  An  annuity  of  six  thousand 
francs,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  and  a  thousand  crowns  from 
the  estate,  that  makes  nine  thousand  francs  a  year !  My 
daughter  will  live  m  Paris  after  she  is  married,  and  I  can 
go  and  see  my  dear  children  without  expense."  At  this 
price  she  would  have  sold  not  only  one  but  three  daugh- 
ters, if  she  had  possessed  them.  But  suddenly  her  blood 
ran  cold  at  a  sudden  thought  which  crossed  her  mind : 
"  Would  Valentine  consent  ?  " 

Her  anxiety  to  set  her  mind  at  rest  sent  her  straightway 
to  her  daughter's  room.  She  found  Valentine  reading  by 
the  light  of  a  flickering  candle.  "  My  daughter,"  she  said 
abruptly,  "  a  young  man  of  whom  I  approve  has  demanded 
your  hand  in  marriage,  and  I  have  promised  it  to  him." 

At  this  startling  announcement,  Valentine  started  up — 
*'  Impossible  !  "  she  murmured,  "  impossible  !  " 

"  And  why,  if  you  please  t  " 

*'  Did  you  tell  him,  mother,  what  I  am  ?  Did  you 
own — " 

"  Your  past  folly  ?  No,  thank  heavens  !  and  I  hope  you 
will  have  the  good  sense  to  keep  silent  on  the  subject." 

Although  Valentine's  spirit  was  completely  crushed  by 
her  mother's  tyranny,  her  sense  of  honor  revolted  at  the 
idea.  "  You  certainly  would  not  wish  me  to  marry  an 
honest  man,  mother,  without  confessing  to  him  everything 
connected  with  the  past  ?  I  could  never  practise  a  decep- 
tion so  base." 

The  countess  felt  very  much  like  flying  into  a  passion ; 
but  she  knew  that  threats  would  be  of  no  avail  in  this  in- 
stance, where  resistance  would  be  a  matter  of  conscience 
with  her  daughter.  Instead  of  commanding,  she  entreated. 
*'  Poor  child,"  she  said,  "  my  poor  dear  Valentine,  if 
you  only  knew  the  dreadful  state  of  our  affairs  you  would 
not  talk  in  this  way.  Your  folly  commenced  our  ruin ;  to- 
day it  is  complete.  Do  you  know  that  our  creditors 
threaten  to  turn  us  out  of  La  Verberie  .'*  Then  what  will 
become  of  us,  my  poor  child  ?  Must  I  in  my  old  age  go 
begging  from  door  to  door  ?  We  are  utterly  lost,  and  this 
marriage  is  our  only  hope  of  salvation." 


FILE  NO.  113.  197 

These  tearful  entreaties  were  followed  by  plausible  ar- 
guments. The  dear  countess  made  use  of  strange  and 
subtle  theories.  What  she  formerly  regarded  as  a  mon- 
strous crime,  she  now  spoke  of  as  a  peccadillo.  According 
to  her,  girls  in  Valentine's  position  were  to  be  met  with 
every  day.  She  could  understand,  she  said,  her  daughter's 
scruples  if  there  were  any  danger  of  the  past  being  brought 
to  light;  but  she  had  taken  such  precautions,  that  there 
was  no  fear  of  that.  Would  it  make  her  love  her  husband 
any  the  less  .-^  No.  Would  he  be  less  happy  ?  No. 
Then  that  being  so,  why  hesitate  '^.  Shocked,  bewildered, 
Valentine  asked  herself  if  this  was  really  her  mother,  the 
haughty  woman  who  had  always  been  such  a  worshipper  of 
honor  and  duty,  who  now  contradicted  every  word  she  had 
uttered  during  her  life  !  Valentine  could  not  understand 
the  sudden  change.  But  she  would  have  understood  it, 
had  she  known  to  what  base  deeds  a  mind  blinded  by  sel- 
fishness and  vanity  can  lend  itself.  The  countess's  subtle 
arguments  and  shameful  sophistry  neither  moved  nor  con* 
vinced  her ;  but  she  had  not  the  courage  to  resist  the 
tearful  entreaties  of  that  mother,  who  ended  by  falling  on 
her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  imploring  her  child  to 
save  her.  Violently  agitated,  distracted  by  a  thousand 
conflicting  emotions,  daring  neither  to  refuse  nor  to  prom- 
ise, fearing  the  consequences  of  a  decision  thus  forced 
from  her,  the  unhappy  girl  begged  her  mother  to  grant  her 
a  few  hours  to  reflect. 

Madame  de  La  Verberie  dared  not  refuse  this  request, 
and  acquiesced. 

"  I  will  leave  you  my  daughter,"  she  said,  "  and  I  trust 
your  heart  will  tell  you  how  to  decide  between  a  useless 
confession,  and  your  mother's  salvation."  With  these 
words  she  left  the  room,  indignant  but  hopeful. 

And  she  had  grounds  for  hope.  Placed  between  two 
obligations  equally  sacred,  equally  binding,  but  diametri- 
cally opposed,  Valentine's  troubled  mind  could  no  longer 
clearly  discern  the  path  of  duty.  Could  she  reduce  her 
mother  to  want  and  misery  ?  Could  she  basely  deceive  the 
confidence  and  love  of  an  honorable  man  ?  However  she 
decided,  her  future  life  would  be  one  of  suffering  and  re- 
morse. Alas  !  why  had  she  not  a  wise  and  kind  adviser  to 
point  out  the  right  course  to  pursue,  and  assist  her  in  strug- 
gling against  evil  influences  ?   Why  had  she  not  that  gentle, 


198  FILE  NO.  113. 

discreet  friend  who  had  helped  her  in  her  first  misfortunes, 
old  Dr.  Raget  ?  Formerly,  the  memory  of  Gaston  had 
been  her  guiding  star ;  but  now  this  far-oif  memory  was 
nothing  but  a  sort  of  vanishing  dream.  In  romance  we 
meet  with  heroines  of  life-long  constancy ;  real  life  pro- 
duces few  such  miracles.  For  a  long  time,  Valentine's 
mind  had  been  filled  with  the  image  of  Gaston.  As  the 
hero  of  her  dreams,  she  dwelt  fondly  on  his  memory ;  but 
the  mists  of  time  had  gradually  dimmed  the  brilliancy  of 
her  idol,  which  was  now  no  more  than  a  cold  relic  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart.  When  she  arose  the  next  morning, 
pale  and  weak  from  a  sleepless,  tearful  night,  she  was  al- 
most resolved  to  confess  everything ;  but  when  the  even- 
ing came,  and  she  found  herself  in  the  company  of  Andr^ 
Fauvel,  and  in  the  presence  of  her  mother's  alternately 
threatening  and  supplicating  glances,  her  courage  failed 
her.  She  would  say  to  herself :  "I  will  tell  him.'*  But 
later  on  she  added  :  "  I  will  wait  till  to-morrow."  The 
countess  saw  all  these  struggles,  but  was  not  made  uneasy 
by  them.  She  knew  by  experience,  that  when  a  painful 
duty  is  put  off  it  is  never  performed.  There  was,  perhaps, 
some  excuse  for  Valentine  in  the  horror  of  her  situation. 
Perhaps,  unknown  to  herself,  she  felt  a  faint  hope  arise 
within  her.  Any  marriage,  even  an  unhappy  one,  offered 
the  prospect  of  a  change,  of  a  new  life,  a  relief  from  the 
insupportable  suffering  she  was  then  enduring.  Sometimes, 
in  her  ignorance  of  human  life,  she  imagined  that  time  and 
close  intimacy  would  make  it  almost  easy  for  her  to  confess 
her  terrible  fault,  and  that  Andre  would  pardon  her  and 
marry  her  all  the  same,  since  he  loved  her  so  much.  That 
he  sincerely  loved  her,  she  knew  full  well.  It  was  not  the 
impetuous  passion  of  Gaston,  with  its  excitements  and 
terrors,  but  a  calm,  steady,  and  perhaps  more  lasting  af- 
fection, obtaining  a  sort  a  of  blissful  rest  in  its  legitimacy 
and  constancy. 

Thus  Valentine  gradually  became  accustomed  to  Andre's 
presence,  and  was  surprised  into  feeling  very  happy  at 
the  constant  delicate  attentions  and  affectionate  looks  that 
he  lavished  upon  her.  She  did  not  feel  any  love  for  him 
yet;  but  a  separation  would  have  distressed  her  deeply. 
During  the  courtship,  the  countess's  conduct  was  a  master- 
piece. She  suddenly  ceased  arguing  and  importuning- 
and  with  tearful  resignation  said  she  would  not  attempt 


FILE  NO.  113.  199 

to  influence  her  daughter's  decision  ;  but  she  went  about 
sighing  and  groaning  as  if  she  were  on  the  eve  of  starving 
to  death.  She  also  made  arrangements  for  being  tor- 
mented by  the  bailiffs.  Distress-warrants  and  legal  no- 
tices poured  in  at  La  Verberie,  and  she  would  show 
Valentine  all  these  documents,  saying,  "  God  grant  we 
may  not  be  driven  frcm  the  home  of  our  ancestors  before 
your  marriage,  my  darling  !  "  Knowing  that  her  presence 
was  sufficient  to  freeze  any  confession  on  her  daughter's 
lips,  she  never  left  her  alone  with  Andr^.  "  Once  mar- 
ried," she  thought,  "  they  can  settle  the  matter  to  please 
themselves."  She  was  as  impatient  as  Andre',  and  has- 
tened the  preparations  for  the  wedding.  She  gave  Valen- 
tine no  opportunity  for  reflection.  She  kept  her  constantly 
busy,  either  in  driving  to  town  to  purchase  some  article  of 
dress,  or  in  paying  visits. 

At  last  the  eve  of  the  wedding-day  found  the  countess 
hopeful,  though  oppressed  with  anxiety,  like  the  gambler 
playing  for  a  high  stake.  On  this  evening,  for  the  first 
time,  Valentine  found  herself  alone  with  the  man  who  was 
to  become  her  husband.  It  was  twilight,  and  she  was  sit- 
ting in  the  drawing-room,  miserable  and  trembling,  anx- 
ious to  unburden  her  mind,  when  Andre  entered.  Seeing 
that  she  was  agitated,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and  gently 
begged  her  to  tell  him  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  "  Am  I 
not  your  best  friend,"  he  said,  "  and  ought  I  not  to  be  the 
confidant  of  your  troubles,  if  you  have  any.-*  Why  these 
tears,  my  darling  ?  " 

At  this  moment  she  was  on  the  point  of  confessing 
everything.  But  suddenly  she  perceived  the  scandal  that 
would  result,  the  pain  she  would  cause  Andr^,  and  her 
mother's  anger  ;  she  saw  her  own  future  life  ruined — she 
exclaimed,  like  all  young  girls  when  the  eventful  moment 
draws  near  :  "  I  am  afraid."  Imagining  that  she  was 
merely  disturbed  by  some  vague  fears,  he  tried  to  con- 
sole and  reassure  her ;  but  he  was  surprised  to  find  that 
his  affectionate  words  only  seemed  to  increase  her  distress. 
But  already  Madame  de  La  Verberie  came  to  interrupt 
them  :  they  were  wanted  to  sign  the  marriage  contract. 
Andr^  Fauvel  was  left  in  ignorance. 

On  the  morrow,  a  lovely  spring  day,  Andr^  Fauvel  and 
Valentine  de  La  Verberie  were  married  at  the  village 
church.     Early  in  the  morning,  the  chateau  was  filled  wif*i 


200  FILE  NO.  113. 

the  bride's  friends,  who  came,  according  to  custom,  to  as- 
sist at  her  wedding  toilet.  Valentine  forced  herself  to 
appear  calm,  even  smiling  ;  but  her  face  was  whiter  than 
her  veil — her  heart  was  torn  by  remorse.  She  felt  as 
though  the  sad  truth  were  written  upon  her  brow,  and 
that  her  white  dress  was  but  a  bitter  irony,  a  galling  hu- 
miliation. She  shuddered  when  her  most  intimate  friend 
placed  the  wreath  of  orange-blossom  upon  her  head.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  this  emblem  of  purity  would  burn  her. 
It  did  not  do  so,  but  one  of  the  wire  stems  of  the  flowers 
badly  covered,  scratched  her  forehead  which  bled  a  great 
deal,  and  a  drop  of  blood  fell  upon  her  dress.  What  an 
evil  omen  !  Valentine  almost  fainted.  But  presages  are 
deceitful,  as  it  proved  with  Valentine  ;  for  a  year  after 
her  marriage  she  was,  according  to  report,  the  happiest  of 
wives.  Happy  !  yes,  she  would  have  been  completely  so 
could  she  only  have  forgotten  the  past.  Andrd  adored 
her.  He  had  gone  into  business,  and  everything  succeeded 
with  him.  But  he  wished  to  be  immensely  rich,  not  for 
him«self,  but  for  the  wife  he  loved,  whom  he  longed  to  sur- 
rownd  with  every  luxury.  Thinking  her  the  most  lovely, 
he  wished  to  see  her  the  most  adorned. 

Eighteen  months  after  her  marriage,  Madame  Fauvel 
had  a  son.  But,  alas  !  neither  this  child,  nor  a  second  son, 
born  a  year  after,  could  make  her  forget  the  other  one — 
the  poor,  forsaken  babe  who,  for  a  sum  of  money,  a  stran- 
ger had  consented  to  receive.  Loving  her  children  pas- 
sionately, and  bringing  them  up  like  the  sons  of  princes, 
she  would  murmur  to  herself,  "  Who  knows  if  the  aban- 
doned one  has  even  bread  to  eat  ?  "  If  she  had  only  known 
where  he  was ;  if  she  had  only  dared  inquire ! — but  she 
was  afraid.  Sometimes,  too,  she  would  be  uneasy  about 
Gaston's  jewels,  constantly  fearing  that  their  hiding-place 
would  be  discovered.  Other  times  she  would  say  to  her- 
self :  "  I  may  as  well  be  tranquil ;  misfortune  has  forgot- 
ten  me."  Poor  deluded  woman  !  Misfortune  is  a  visitor 
who  sometimes  delays  his  visits,  but  always  comes  in  the 
end. 


FILE  NO.  113.  201 


XV. 

Louis  de  Clameran,  the  second  son  of  the  marquis, 
was  one  of  those  self-controlled  men,  who  beneath  a  cool, 
careless  manner,  conceal  a  fiery  temperament,  and  ungov- 
ernable passions.  All  sorts  of  extravagant  ideas  had  be- 
gun to  ferment  in  his  disordered  brain,  long  before  the 
occurrence  which  decided  the  destiny  of  the  De  Clameran 
family.  Apparently  occupied  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure, 
this  precocious  hypocrite  longed  for  a  larger  field  in  which 
to  indulge  his  evil  inclinations,  secretly  cursing  the  stern 
necessity  which  chained  him  down  to  this  dreary  country 
life,  and  the  old  chateau,  which  to  him  was  more  gloomy 
than  a  prison,  and  as  lifeless  as  the  grave.  This  existence, 
dragged  out  in  the  country  and  the  small  neighboring 
towns,  was  too  monotonous  for  his  restless  nature.  The 
paternal  authority,  though  gently  exercised,  exasperated 
his  rebellious  temper.  He  thirsted  for  independence, 
riches,  excitement,  pleasure,  and  the  unknown.  Louis  did 
not  love  his  father,  and  he  hated  his  brother  Gaston.  The 
old  marquis,  in  his  culpable  thoughtlessness,  had  kindled 
this  burning  envy  in  the  heart  of  his  second  son.  A  strict 
observer  of  traditional  rights,  he  had  always  declared  that 
the  eldest  son  of  a  noble  house  should  inherit  all  the  fam- 
ily possessions,  and  that  he  intended  to  leave  Gaston  his 
entire  fortune.  This  flagrant  injustice  and  favoritism  in- 
spired Louis  with  envious  hatred  for  his  brother.  Gaston 
always  said  that  he  would  never  consent  to  profit  by  this 
paternal  partiality,  but  would  share  equally  with  his  brother. 
Judging  others  by  himself,  Louis  placed  no  faith  in  this 
assertion,  which  he  called  an  ostentatious  affectation  of 
generosity.  Although  this  hatred  was  unsuspected  by  the 
marquis  and  Gaston,  it  was  betrayed  by  acts  significant 
enough  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  servants.  They 
were  so  fully  aware  of  Louis's  sentiments  towards  his 
brother,  that,  when  the  latter  was  prevented  from  escaping 
because  of  the  stumbling  horse,  they  refused  to  believe  it 
an  accident,  and  muttered  under  their  breath  the  word  : 
"  Fratricide  ! "  A  deplorable  scene  took  place  between 
Louis  and  Jean,  who  was  allowed,  on  account  of  his  fifty 
years'  faithful  service,  to  take  liberties  which  he  sometimes 
abused  by  making  rough  speeches  to  his  superiors. 


202  FILE  NO.  113.  > 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  said  the  old  servant,  "  that  a  skilful 
rider  like  yourself  should  have  fallen  at  the  very  moment 
when  your  brother's  safety  depended  upon  your  good 
horsemanship.     La  Verdure  did  not  fall." 

At  this  broad  insinuation,  Louis  turned  pale,  and  threat- 
eningly exclaimed  :  "  You  insolent  scoundrel,  what  do  you 
mean  t  " 

"  You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean,  sir,"  the  old  man 
replied  significantly. 

"  1  do  not  know  !     Explain  yourself." 

The  servant  only  answered  by  a  meaning  look,  which 
so  incensed  Louis,  that  he  rushed  towards  him  with  up- 
raised whip,  and  would  have  beaten  him  unmercifully,  had 
not  the  other  servants  interfered,  and  dragged  Jean  from 
the  spot.  This  altercation  occurred  while  Gaston  was  in 
the  madder-field  trying  to  escape  his  pursuers.  After 
awhile,  the  gendarmes  and  hussars  returned,  with  slow 
tread  and  sad  faces,  and  announced  that  Gaston  de  Cla- 
meran  had  plunged  into  the  Rhone,  and  was  most  certainly 
drowned.  This  melancholy  news  was  received  with  groans 
and  tears  by  every  one  save  Louis,  who  remained  calm 
and  unmoved — not  a  single  muscle  of  his  face  quivered ; 
but  his  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph.  A  secret  voice  cried 
within  him  :  "  Now  you  are  assured  of  the  family  posses- 
sions, and  a  marquis's  coronet."  He  was  no  longer  the 
poverty-stricken  younger  son,  but  the  sole  heir  of  the  De 
Clamerans. 

The  corporal  of  the  gendarmes  had  said  :  "  I  would  not 
be  the  one  to  tell  the  poor  old  man  that  his  son  is 
drowned." 

Louis  felt  none  of  the  tender-hearted  scruples  of  the 
brave  old  scJdier.  He  instantly  went  to  his  father's  sick- 
room, and  said,  in  a  firm  voice  :  "  Between  disgrace  and 
death,  my  brother  has  chosen  :  he  is  dead." 

Like  a  sturdy  oak  stricken  by  lightning,  the  marquis  tot- 
tered and  fell  when  these  fatal  words  sounded  in  his  ears. 
The  doctor  soon  arrived,  but,  alas !  only  to  say  that 
science  was  of  no  avail.  Towards  daybreak,  Louis,  with- 
out a  tear,  received  his  father's  last  sigh.  Louis  was  now 
the  master.  All  the  unjust  precautions  taken  by  the  mar- 
quis to  elude  the  law,  and  insure  beyond  dispute  the  pos- 
session of  his  entire  fortune  to  his  eldest  son,  turned 
against  him.     By  means  of   a   fraudulent   dv;ed  of   trust 


FILE  NO.  113.  203 

drawn  by  his  dishonest  lawyer,  M.  de  Clameran  had  dis- 
posed everything  so  that,  on  the  day  of  his  death,  every 
farthing  he  owned  would  be  Gaston's.  It  was  Louis  who 
benefited  by  this  precaution.  He  came  into  possession 
without  even  being  called  upon  for  the  certificate  of  his 
brother's  death.  He  was  now  Marquis  de  Clameran  ;  he 
was  free,  he  was  comparatively  rich.  He  who  had  never 
had  twenty-five  crowns  in  his  pocket  at  a  time,  now  found 
himself  the  possessor  of  close  upon  two  hundred  thousand 
francs.  This  sudden  and  most  unexpected  fortune  so 
completely  turned  his  head,  that  he  forgot  his  skilful  dis- 
simulation. His  demeanor  at  the  funeral  of  the  marquis 
attracted  general  notice.  He  followed  the  coffin,  with  his 
head  bowed  down  and  his  face  buried  in  a  handkerchief , 
but  his  looks  belied  him,  his  face  was  beaming,  and  one 
could  trace  a  smile  beneath  the  grimaces  of  his  feigned 
grief.  The  day  after  the  funeral,  Louis  sold  off  everything 
that  could  be  disposed  of — horses,  carriages,  and  family 
plate.  The  next  dny  he  discharged  all  the  old  servants, 
who  had  hoped  to  end  their  days  beneath  the  hospitable 
roof  of  Clameran.  Several,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  took 
him  aside,  and  entreated  him  to  let  them  stay,  even  with- 
out wages.  He  roughly  ordered  them  to  begone.  He 
sent  for  his  father's  law^yer,  and  gave  him  a  power  of  at- 
torney to  sell  the  estate,  and  received  in  return  the  sum 
of  twenty  thousand  francs  as  the  first  payment  in  ad- 
vance. At  the  end  of  the  week,  he  locked  up  the  chateau, 
with  a  vow  never  to  enter  it  again,  and  left  the  keys  wich 
Jean,  who,  owning  a  little  house  near  Clameran,  would 
continue  to  live  in  the  neighborhood. 

Poor  Jean  !  little  did  he  think  that,  in  preventing  Val- 
entine from  seeing  Louis,  he  had  ruined  the  prospects  of 
his  beloved  Gaston.  On  receiving  the  keys,  he  asked  but 
one  question  :  "  Shall  we  not  search  for  your  brother's 
body,  sir  .-*"  he  inquired  in  broken-hearted  tones.  "And, 
if  it  is  found,  what  is  to  be  done  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  instructions  with  my  lawyer,"  answered 
Louis.  And  he  hurried  away  from  Clameran  as  if  the 
ground  burnt  his  feet.  He  went  to  Tarascon,  where  he 
had  already  forwarded  his  luggage,  and  took  the  stage- 
coach which  travelled  between  Marseilles  and  Paris,  the 
railroad  not  then  being  finished. 

At   last   he    was   off.     The    lumbering  vehicle    rattled 


204  FILE  NO.  \\y 

along,  drawn  by  six  horses ;  and  the  deep  gullies  made  by 
the  wheels  seemed  so  many  abysses  between  the  past  and 
the  future.  Lying  back  in  his  corner,  Louis  de  Clameran 
enjoyed  in  anticipation  the  pleasures  of  which  he  was 
about  to  partake.  At  the  end  of  the  journey,  Paris  ap- 
peared before  him — radiant,  brilliantly  dazzling  as  the 
sun.  For  he  was  going  to  Paris,  the  promised  land,  the 
city  of  wonders,  where  every  Aladdin  finds  a  lamp. 
There,  all  ambitions  are  crowned,  all  dreams  are  realized, 
all  passions,  all  desires,  good  and  evil,  are  satisfied. 
There  the  fast-fleeting  days  are  followed  by  nights  of  ever- 
varied  pleasure  and  excitement.  In  twenty  theatres  trag- 
edy weeps,  or  comedy  laughs ;  whilst  at  the  opera,  the 
most  beautiful  women  in  the  world,  sparkling  with  dia- 
monds, are  ready  to  die  with  ecstasy  at  the  sound  of  di- 
vme  music  ;  everywhere  noise,  excitement,  luxury,  and 
pleasure.  What  a  dream  !  The  heart  of  Louis  de  Cla- 
meran was  overflowing  with  desire  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  horses  crawled  along  like  tortoises.  He  gave 
neither  a  thought  nor  a  regret  to  the  past.  What  mattered 
it  to  him  how  his  father  and  brother  had  died  ?  All  his 
mind  was  devoted  to  penetrating  the  mysterious  future 
that  awaited  him.  Was  not  every  chance  in  his  favor } 
He  was  young,  rich,  handsome,  and  a  marquis  ;  he  had  a 
constitution  of  iron  ;  he  carried  twenty  thousand  francs 
in  his  pocket,  and  would  soon  have  ten  times  as  many 
more.  He,  who  had  always  been  poor,  regarded  this  sum 
as  an  inexhaustible  treasure  ;  and  at  nightfall,  when  he 
jumped  from  the  coach  on  to  the  muddy  pavement  of  the 
brilliantly-lighted  Paris  street,  he  seemed  to  be  taking 
possession  of  the  great  city,  and  felt  as  though  he  could 
buy  everything  in  it.  His  illusions  were  those  CG,.xi...i^a 
to  all  young  men  who,  never  having  been  thrown  upon 
their  own  resources,  suddenly  come  into  possession  of  a 
patrimony.  It  is  this  ignorance  of  the  real  value  of 
money  that  squanders  fortunes,  and  fritters  away  the  gold 
so  laboriously  saved  in  the  frugal  provinces.  Imbued  with 
his  own  importance,  accustomed  to  the  deference  of  the 
country  people,  the  young  marquis  came  to  Paris  with  the 
expectation  of  being  a  lion,  on  account  of  his  name  and 
fortune.  He  was  mortified  to  discover  his  error.  To  his 
great  surprise,  he  learnt  that  he  possessed  nothing  which 
constituted  a  position  in  this  immense  city.     He  founcj 


FILE  NO.  113.  205 

that  in  the  midst  of  the  busy,  indifferent  crowd,  he  was  as 
much  lost  and  unnoticed  as  a  drop  of  water  in  a  torrent. 

But  this  not  very  flattering  reality  could  not  discourage 
a  man  who  was  determined  to  gratify  his  passions  at  all 
costs.  His  ancestral  name  gained  him  but  one  privilege, 
disastrous  for  his  future ;  it  opened  to  him  the  doors  of 
the  aristocratic  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  There  he  became 
acquainted  with  men  of  his  own  age  and  rank,  whose  an- 
nual incomes  almost  equalled  his  entire  fortune.  Nearly 
all  of  them  confessed  that  they  only  kept  up  their  extrava- 
gant style  of  living  by  dint  of  skilful  economy  behind  the 
scenes,  and  by  regulating  their  vices  and  follies  as  judi- 
ciously as  a  hosier  would  arrange  his  Sunday  holidays.  This 
information  astonished  Louis,  but  did  not  open  his  eyes. 
He  endeavored  to  imitate  the  dashing  style  of  these  eco- 
nomically wasteful  young  men,  without  attempting  to  con- 
form to  their  prudential  rules.  He  learned  how  to  spend, 
but  not  how  to  reckon  as  they  did.  He  was  Marquis  de 
Clameran,  and  having  given  himself  a  reputation  of  great 
wealth,  he  was  well  received  :  if  he  made  no  friends,  he 
had  at  least  many  acquaintances.  At  the  club  where  he 
was  proposed  and  elected  shortly  after  his  arrival,  he  found 
several  obliging  persons  who  took  pleasure  in  initiating 
him  into  the  secrets  of  fashionable  life,  and  correcting  any 
little  provincialisms  betrayed  in  his  manners  and  conversa- 
tion. He  profited  well  and  quickly  by  their  lessons.  At 
the  end  of  three  months  he  was  fairly  launched  ;  his  repu- 
tation as  a  skilful  gambler  was  fully  established  ;  and  he 
had  nobly  and  gloriously  compromised  himself  with  one 
of  the  fast  women  of  the  day.  He  had  rented  handsome 
apartments  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Madeleine,  with  a  coach- 
house and  stabling  for  three  horses.  Although  he  only 
furnished  this  bachelor's  establishment  with  what  was  ab- 
solutely necessary,  he  found  that  necessaries  were  very 
costly ;  so  that  the  day  he  took  possession  of  his  apart- 
ments, and  tried  to  make  up  his  accounts,  he  made  the 
startling  discovery  that  his  short  apprenticeship  in  Paris 
had  cost  him  fifty  thousand  francs,  one-fourth  of  his  for- 
tune. And  yet  he  remained,  when  compared  to  his  brill- 
iant friends,  in  a  state  of  inferiority  which  was  mortifying 
to  his  vanity,  like  a  worthy  countryman  who  strains  every 
nerve  to  make  his  nag  keep  up  with  thoroughbreds. 
Fifty  thousand  francs !     For  a  moment  Louis  had  a  slight 


2o6  FILE  NO,  113. 

inclination  to  retire  from  the  contest.  But  then,  what  2 
come  down  !  Besides,  his  vices  bloomed  and  flourished 
in  these  charming  surroundings.  He  had  heretofore  con- 
sidered himself  wonderfully  fast,  and  now  a  host  of  new 
corruptions  were  revealed  to  him.  Then  the  sight  of  sud- 
denly acquired  fortunes,  and  the  many  examples  of  the 
successful  results  of  hazardous  ventures,  inflamed  his 
mind.  He  thought  that  in  this  great,  rich  city,  he  certainly 
could  succeed  in  securing  a  share  of  the  loaves  and  fishes. 
But  how .''  He  had  no  idea,  and  he  did  not  seek  to  find 
one.  He  simply  persuaded  himself  that,  like  many  others, 
he  would  have  his  lucky  day.  This  is  another  of  those 
errors  which  it  is  time  to  destroy.  Fortune  is  not  to  be 
wasted  upon  idle  fools.  In  this  furious  race  of  self-interest 
it  requires  great  skill  to  bestride  that  capricious  mare 
called  opportunity,  and  ride  her  to  the  goal.  But  Louis 
did  not  devote  so  much  thought  to  the  matter.  As  stupid 
as  the  man  w^ho  expected  to  win  the  prize  at  the  lottery 
without  having  purchased  a  ticket,  he  said  to  himself, 
"Pshaw!  opportunity — chance — a  rich  marriage  will  set 
me  right  again  !  "  The  rich  bride  failed  to  appear,  but 
the  turn  of  the  last  bank-note  arrived.  To  a  pressing  de- 
mand for  money,  his  notary  replied  by  a  refusal.  "  You 
have  nothing  left  to  sell,  sir,"  he  wrote,  "  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  chateau.  It  is  no  doubt  very  valuable  ;  but  it 
is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  find  a  purchaser  for  so 
large  a  building  situated  as  it  is  now.  I  will  use  every  ef- 
fort to  secure  a  purchaser ;  and,  believe  me,  sir,  &c." 
Louis  was  thunderstruck  at  this  final  catastrophe,  as  much 
surprised  as  if  he  had  not  foreseen  it.  What  was  he  to 
do  'i  Ruined,  witJi  nothing  to  hope  for,  he  imitated  those 
poor  fools  who  each  year  rise  up,  shine  for  a  moment,  and 
then  suddenly  disappear.  But  Louis  could  not  give  up 
the  life  of  ease  and  pleasure  which  he  had  been  leading 
for  the  past  three  years.  Fate  had  decreed  that,  after 
leaving  his  fortune  on  the  battle-field,  he  should  also  leave 
his  honor.  He  first  of  all  lived  on  the  reputation  of  his 
dissipated  fortune — on  the  credit  that  remains  to  the  man 
who  has  spent  much  in  a  short  space  of  time.  This  re- 
source was  soon  exhausted.  The  day  came  when  his 
creditors  seized  all  they  could  lay  their  hands  upon — the 
last  remains  of  his  opulence,  his  carriages,  horses,  and 
costly  furniture.     He  retired  to  a  very  quiet  hotel^  but  he 


FILE  NO.  113.  20J 

could  not  keep  away  from  the  wealthy  set  whom  he  hac 
considered  his  friends.  He  now  lived  upon  them  as  he  hac 
lived  upon  his  tradesmen.  Borrowing  from  one  louis  uf 
to  twenty-five,  from  anybody  who  would  lend  to  him, 
and  never  attempting  to  repay  them.  Constantly  bet- 
ting, no  one  ever  saw  him  pay  a  wager.  He  piloted 
all  the  novices  who  fell  into  his  hands,  and  utilized, 
in  the  most  shameful  services,  an  experience  which 
had  cost  him  two  hundred  thousand  francs  :  he  was 
half  a  courtier,  and  half  an  adventurer.  His  acquaintances 
did  not  cut  him,  but  made  him  cruelly  expiate  the  favor  of 
being  tolerated.  No  one  had  the  least  regard  for  his  feel- 
ings, or  hesitated  to  say  before  him  what  was  thought  of 
his  conduct ;  therefore,  whenever  alone  in  his  little  den, 
he  would  give  way  to  fits  of  violent  rage.  He  could  endure 
all  these  humiliations,  but  could  not  help  feeling  them. 
Envy  and  covetousness  had  long  since  stifled  every  senti- 
ment of  honor  and  self-respect  in  him.  For  a  few  years 
of  opulence,  he  felt  ready  to  commit  even  a  crime. 

He  did  not  commit  a  crime,  however,  but  he  became 
mixed  up  in  a  disgraceful  affair  of  swindling  and  extortion. 
The  Count  de  Commarin,  an  old  friend  of  his  family,  came 
to  his  assistance,  hushed  up  the  matter,  and  furnished  him 
with  money  to  take  him  to  England.  And  what  were  his 
means  of  livelihood  in  London  ?  The  detectives  of  the 
most  corrupt  capital  in  the  woild  could  alone  tell  us.  De- 
scending to  the  lowest  stages  of  vice,  the  Marquis  de 
Clameran  finally  found  his  level  in  a  society  composed  of 
fallen  women  and  of  sharpers,  whose  chances  and  shame- 
ful profits  he  shared.  Compelled  to  quit  London,  he  trav- 
elled about  Europe,  \vith  no  other  capital  than  his  au- 
dacity, his  deep  depravity,  and  his  skill  at  cards.  Finally, 
in  1865,  having  met  a  nm  of  good  luck  at  Homburg,  he 
returned  to  Paris,  where  he  imagined  himself  entirely  for- 
gotten. Eighteen  years  had  passed  since  he  left  France. 
The  first  step  wliich  he  took  on  his  return,  before  even 
settling  himself  in  Paris,  was  to  make  a  visit  to  his  old 
home.  Not  that  he  had  any  relative  or  even  friend  in  that 
part  of  the  country,  from  whom  he  could  expect  any  assist- 
iince ;  but  he  remembered  the  old  chateau  which  his 
notary  had  been  unable  to  sell.  He  thought  that  perhaps 
by  this  time  a  purchaser  had  appeared,  and  he  determined 
to  go  himself  and  ascertain  the  point ;  he  thought,  too^ 


$8  FILE  NO.  113. 

Aat  once  in  the  neighborhood,  he  would  always  be  able 
to  get  something  for  his  property,  which  had  cost  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  build. 

Three  days  later,  on  a  beautiful  October  evening,  he 
reached  Tarascon,  and  there  learned  that  he  was  still  the 
owner  of  the  chateau.  Early  the  next  morning,  he  set  out 
on  foot  to  visit  the  paternal-home  at  Clameran,  which  he 
had  not  seen  for  twenty-five  years.  Everything  was  so 
changed,  that  he  scarcely  recognized  the  locality  where 
he  was  born,  and  where  he  passed  his  youth  ;  yet  the  im- 
pression was  so  strong,  that  this  man,  tried  by  such  varied, 
strange  adventures,  for  a  moment  felt  like  turning  back. 
He  only  continued  his  road  because  a  secret,  hopeful  voice 
cried  to  him,  "  Onward,  onward  !  " — as  if,  at  the  end  of 
the  journey,  was  to  be  found  a  new  life  and  the  long-Wished- 
for  good  fortune.  As  Louis  advanced,  however,  the 
changes  appeared  less  striking ;  he  began  to  recognize  the 
ground.  Soon,  through  the  trees,  he  distinguished  the 
village  steeple,  then  the  village  itself,  built  upon  the  gen- 
tle slope  of  a  hill,  crowned  by  a  wood  of  olive-trees.  He 
recognized  the  first  houses  he  came  to  ;  the  farrier's  shed, 
with  its  roof  covered  with  vine ;  the  old  parsonage,  and 
farther  on  the  village  inn,  where  he  and  Gaston  used  to 
play  billiards  on  its  primitive  table.  In  spite  of  what  he 
styled  his  scorn  of  vulgar  prejudices,  a  thrill  of  strange 
emotion  oppressed  his  heart.  He  could  not  overcome  a 
feeling  of  sadness  as  scenes  of  the  past  rose  up  before  him. 
How  many  events  had  occurred  since  he  last  walked  along 
this  path,  and  received  a  friendly  bow  and  smile  from  every 
villager !  Then,  life  appeared  to  him  like  a  fairy-scene  in 
which  his  every  wish  was  gratified.  And  now,  he  returned, 
dishonored,  worn  out,  disgusted  with  the  realities  of  life, 
having  tasted  the  bitter  dregs  of  the  cup  of  shame,  stig- 
matized, poverty-stricken,  and  friendless,  with  nothing  to 
lose  and  nothing  to  look  forward  to.  The  few  villagers 
whom  he  met  turned  and  stood  gazing  after  this  dust-cov- 
ered stranger,  and  wondered  who  he  could  be. 

Upon  reaching  Jean's  house,  he  found  the  door  open  ; 
he  walked  into  the  immense  kitchen,  with  its  monumental 
fire-place,  and  rapped  on  the  table.  "  Coming  !  "  answered 
a  voice  from  another  room. 

The  next  moment  a  man  of  about  forty  years  appeared 


FILE  NO.  113.  209 

in  the  doorway,  and  seemed  much  sinprised  at  finding  a 
stranger  in  his  kitchen. 

"  What  do  you  desire,  sir  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Does  not  Jean,  the  Marquis  de  Clameran's  old  valet, 
live  here  ?  " 

"  My  father  died  five  years  ago,  sir,"  replied  the  man 
in  a  sad  tone. 

This  news  affected  Louis  painfully,  as  if  he  had  ex* 
pected  the  old  man  to  restore  him.  some  of  his  lost  youth. 
He  sighed,  and  said,  "  I  am  the  Marquis  de  Clameran." 

The  man,  at  these  words,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy. 
He  seized  Louis's  hand,  and  pressing  it  with  respectful  af- 
fection, cried  :  "  You  are  the  marquis  !  Alas  !  why  is  not 
my  poor  father  alive  to  see  you  .'' — ho  would  be  so  happy ! 
His  last  words  were  about  his  dear  masters,  and  many  a 
time  did  he  sigh  and  mourn  at  not  receiving  any  news  of 
you.  He  is  beneath  the  sod  now,  resting  after  a  well- 
spent  life  ;  but  I,  Joseph,  his  son,  am  here  to  take  his  place, 
and  devote  my  life  to  your  service.  What  an  honor  it  is 
to  have  you  in  my  house  !  Ah  !  my  wife  will  be  so  happy 
to  see  you  ;  she  has  all  her  life  heard  of  the  De  Clamerans." 
Here  he  ran  into  the  garden,  and  called,  "  'Toinette  !  I  say, 
'Toinette  ! — Come  here  quickly  !  " 

This  cordial  welcome  delighted  Louis.  So  many  years 
had  gone  by  since  he  had  been  treated  with  an  expression 
of  kindness,  or  felt  the  pressure  of  a  friendly  hand.  In  a 
fe\r  moments  a  handsome,  dark-eyed  young  woman  en- 
tered the  room,  and  stood  blushing  with  confusion  at  sight 
of  the  stranger. 

"  This  is  my  wife,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  leading  her  towards 
Louis  ;  "  but  I  have  not  given  her  time  to  put  on  her  finery. 
This  is  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  Antoinette." 

The  young  wife  bowed,  and  having  nothing  to  say, 
gracefully  uplifted  her  brow,  upon  which  the  marquis 
pressed  a  kiss. 

"  You  will  see  the  children  in  a  few  minutes,  Monsieur 
the  Marquis,"  said  Joseph ;  "  I  have  sent  to  the  school 
for  them." 

The  worthy  couple  overwhelmed  the  marquis  with  at- 
tentions. After  so  long  a  walk  he  must  be  hungry,  they 
said  :  he  must  take  a  glass  of  wine  now,  and  lunch  would 
soon  be  ready ;  they  would  be  so  proud  and  happy  if 
Monsieur  the  i\Iarquis  would  partake  of  a  country  lunch, 
H 


210  MLE  NO.  113. 

And  Joseph  went  to  the  cellar  after  the  wine,  while  'Toinette 
ran  to  catch  her  fattest  pullet.  In  a  short  time,  Louis  sat 
down  to  a  table  Laden  with  the  best  of  everything,  waited 
upon  by  Joseph  and  his  wife,  who  watched  him  with  ten- 
der interest.  The  children  came  running  in  from  school, 
smeared  with  the  juice  of  berries.  After  Louis  had  em- 
braced them,  they  stood  in  a  corner  and  gazed  at  him 
with  eyes  wide  open.  The  important  news  had  spread, 
and  a  number  of  villagers  and  countrymen  appeared  at 
the  open  door  to  speak  to  the  Marquis  de  Clameran. 

"  I  am  such  a  one,  Monsieur  the  Marquis  ;  don't  you  re- 
member me  1  Ah  !  I  recognized  you  at  once.  The  late 
marquis  was  very  good  to  me,"  said  an  old  man.  Another 
asked,  "  Don't  you  remember  the  time  when  you  lent  me 
your  gun  to  go  shooting  t  " 

Louis  welcomed  with  secret  delight  all  these  protesta- 
tions and  proofs  of  devotion,  which  had  not  chilled  with 
time.  The  kindly  voices  of  these  honest  people  recalled 
many  pleasant  moments  of  the  past,  and  made  him  feel 
once  more  the  fresh  sensations  of  his  youth.  No  echoes 
of  his  stormy  life,  no  suspicions  of  his  shameful  career 
had,  then,  reached  this  humble  village  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone.  He,  the  adventurer,  the  bully,  the  base  accom- 
plice of  London  swindlers,  delighted  in  these  marks  of  re- 
spect and  veneration  bestowed  upon  him. as  the  represen- 
tative of  the  house  of  De  Clameran  ;  it  seemed  to  make 
him  once  more  feel  a  little  self-respect.  Ah  !  had  he  pos- 
sessed only  a  quarter  of  his  squandered  inheritance,  how 
happy  he  would  have  been  to  peacefully  end  his  days  in 
his  native  village  !  But  this  rest  after  so  many  vain  ex- 
citements, this  haven  after  so  many  storms  and  shipwrecks, 
was  denied  him.  He  was  penniless.  How  could  he  live 
here  when  he  had  nothing  to  live  upon  ?  This  knowledge 
of  his  pressing  need  gave  him  courage  to  ask  Joseph  for 
the  keys  of  the  chateau,  that  he  might  go  and  examine  it. 

"  You  won't  need  any  ke}^  except  the  one  to  the  iron 
gate.  Monsieur  the  Marquis,"  replied  Joseph. 

It  was  but  too  true.  Time  had  done  its  work,  and  the 
lordly  chateau  of  Clameran  was  nothing  but  a  ruin.  The 
rain  and  sun  had  rotted  the  doors  and  shutters  so  that 
they  were  crumbling  and  dilapidated.  Here  and  there 
were  traces  of  the  friendly  hands  of  Jean  and  his  son,  who 
had  tried  to  retard  the  total  ruin  of  the  old  chateau  j  but 


FILE  NO.  113.  2U 

what  use  were  their  efforts  ?  Within,  the  desolation  was 
still  greater.  All  of  the  furniture  which  Louis  had  not 
dared  to  sell  stood  in  the  position  he  left  it,  but  in  what  a 
state  !  All  the  tapestry  hangings  and  coverings  were  moth- 
eaten  and  in  tatters  ;  nothing  seemed  left  but  the  dust-cov 
ered  woodwork  of  the  chairs  and  sofas.  Louis  was  al' 
most  afraid  to  enter  the  grand,  gloomy  rooms,  where  every 
footfall  echoed  lugubriously.  He  almost  expected  to  see 
the  angry  old  marquis  start  up  from  some  dark  corner,  and 
heap  curses  on  his  head  for  having  dishonored  the  name. 
Perhaps  his  terror  had  another  cause,  perhaps  he  recalled 
that  stumble  so  fatal  to  Gaston.  His  nerves  could  not 
bear  it,  and  he  hurried  out  into  the  open  air  and  sunshine. 
After  awhile,  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  remember  the 
object  of  his  visit. 

"  Poor  Jean  was  foolish  not  to  make  use  of  the  furniture 
left  in  the  chateau.  It  is  now  destroyed  without  having 
been  of  use  to  any  one." 

"  My  father  would  not  have  dared  to  touch  anything 
without  permission.  Monsieur  the  Marquis." 

"  And  he  was  wrong.  As  for  the  chateau,  it  is  fast 
approaching  the  condition  of  the  furniture.  My  fortune, 
I  regret  to  say,  does  not  permit  me  to  repair  it ;  I  am, 
therefore,  resolved  to  sell  it  whilst  the  walls  are  still 
standing." 

Joseph  received  this  information  very  much  as  a  pro- 
posal to  commit  a  sacrilege  ;  but  he  was  not  bold  of  speech, 
like  his  father,  so  he  dared  not  express  what  he  thought. 

"  Would  there  be  much  difficulty  in  selling  these  ruins  ? " 
continued  Louis. 

"  That  depends  upon  the  price  you  ask.  Monsieur  the 
Marquis.  I  know  a  man  of  the  neighborhood  who  would 
purchase  the  lot  if  he  could  get  it  cheap." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  A  person  named  Fougeroux,  who  lives  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Rhone,  at  Montagnette.  He  came  from  Beau- 
caire,  and  twelve  years  ago  married  a  servant-maid  of  the 
late  Countess  de  La  Verberie.  Perhaps  Monsieur  the 
Marquis  remembers  her, — a  plump,  bright-eyed  brunette, 
named  Mihonne." 

Loui-s  did  not  remember  Mihonne.  "  When  can  we  see 
this  Fougeroux  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  At  any  time,  by  crossing  the  Rhone  on  the  ferry." 


nz  FILE  ATO.  113. 

"  Well,  let  us  go  now.     I  am  in  a  hurry.** 

An  entire  generation  had  passed  away  since  Louis  had 
left  his  old  home.  It  was  no  longer  the  old  republican 
sailor,  Pilorel,  who  kept  the  ferry,  but  his  son.  But  he 
also  had  a  respect  for  tradition  ;  and  when  he  learnt  the 
"uame  of  the  stranger  who  accompanied  Joseph,  he  hastily 
got  his  boat  read}^,  and  was  soon  in  the  middle  of  the  river 
with  his  two  passengers.  Whilst  young  Pilorel  rowed  with 
all  his  might,  Joseph  did  his  best  to  warn  the  marquis 
against  the  wily  Fougeroux. 

"  He  is  a  cunning  fox,"  said  he.  "  I  have  had  a  bad 
opinion  of  him  ever  since  his  marriage,  which  was  a 
shameful  affair  altogether.  Mihonne  was  over  fifty  years 
of  age,  and  he  was  not  twenty-five  when  he  married  her ; 
so  you  will  understand  it  was  the  money,  and  not  the  wife, 
that  he  wanted.  She,  poor  fool,  believed  that  the  young 
scamp  really  loved  her,  and  gave  herself  and  her  money  up 
to  him." 

"  And  he  has  made  good  use  of  it,"  interrupted  Pilorel. 

*'  That  is  true.  Fougeroux  is  not  the  man  to  let  the 
money  lie  idle.  He  is  now  very  rich ;  but  he  ought, 
at  least,  to  be  thankful  to  Mihonne  for  his  prosperity. 
One  can  easily  understand  his  not  feeling  any  love  for  her, 
when  she  looks  like  his  grandmother ;  but  that  he  should 
deprive  her  of  everything  and  beat  her  cruelly  is  shame- 
ful." 

"  He  would  like  to  know  her  six  feet  under  ground,'* 
said  the  ferryman. 

"  And  he  will  see  her  there  before  long.  She  has  been 
half  dead,  the  poor  old  woman,  ever  since  Fougeroux 
brought  home  a  worthless  jade,  whose  servant  she  has  be- 
come." 

They  had  reached  the  opposite  shore ;  Joseph  and  the 
marquis  asked  young  Pilorel  to  await  their  return,  and 
then  took  the  road  to  Montagnette.  They  soon  arrived 
at  a  well-cultivated  farm,  and  Joseph,  having  inquired  for 
the  master,  a  farm  boy  said  that  "  M.  Fougeroux "  was 
out  in  the  fields,  but  he  would  send  for  him.  He  soon 
appeared.  He  was  a  very  little  man,  with  a  red  beard, 
and  restless  sunken  eyes.  Although  M.  Fougeroux  pro- 
fessed to  despise  the  nobility  and  the  clergy,  the  hope  of 
driving  a  good  bargain  made  him  servilely  obsequious 
He  hastened  to  usher  Louis  into  "his  parlor,"  with  man\> 


FILE  NO.  113.  213 

bows  and  endless  repetitions  of  "  Monsieur  the  Marquis." 
Upon  entering  the  room,  he  roughly  ordered  an  old  woman, 
who  was  crouching  over  some  dying  embers,  to  make  haste 
and  bring  some  wine  for  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de  Cla- 
meran.  At  this  name,  the  old  woman  started  as  if  she  had 
received  an  electric  shock.  She  opened  her  mouth  to  say 
something,  but  a  look  from  her  tyrant  froze  the  words  up- 
on her  lips.  With  a  wild  air,  she  hobbled  out  to  obey  his 
orders,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  a  bottle  of 
wine  and  three  glasses.  Then  she  resumed  her  seat  by 
the  fire,  and  kept  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  marquis. 
Could  this  really  be  the  plump  and  merry  Mihonne,  who 
had  been  the  confidante  of  the  little  fairy  of  La  Verberie  ? 
Valentine  herself  would  never  have  recognized  this  poor, 
shrivelled,  emaciated  old  woman.  Only  those  who  have 
lived  in  the  country  know  what  time  and  worry  can  do  to 
a  woman. 

The  bargain,  meanwhile,  was  being  discussed  between 
Joseph  and  Fougeroux.  The  dealer  offered  a  ridiculously 
small  sum  for  the  chateau,  saying  that  he  would  only  buy 
it  to  pull  down,  and  then  sell  the  materials.  Joseph 
enumerated  the  beams,  joists,  ashlars,  iron-work,  and  the 
ground.  As  for  Mihonne,  the  sight  of  the  marquis  was 
an  event  in  her  existence.  If  the  faithful  servant  had 
hitherto  never  breathed  a  word  of  the  secrets  confided  to 
her  probity,  they  had  seemed  to  her  none  the  less  heavy 
to  bear.  After  marrying,  and  being  so  harshly  treated 
that  she  daily  prayed  for  death  to  come  to  her  relief,  she 
began  to  blame  everybody  but  herself  for  her  misfortunes. 
Excessively  superstitious,  she  traced  back  the  origin  of 
her  misfortunes  to  the  day  when  she  took  the  oath  on  the 
holy  gospel  during  mass.  Having  no  child,  after  having 
ardently  longed  for  one,  she  was  persuaded  that  God  had 
stricken  her  with  barrenness  for  having  assisted  in  the 
abandonment  of  an  innocent,  helpless  babe.  She  often 
thought  that,  by  revealing  everything,  she  might  appease 
the  wrath  of  Heaven,  and  once  more  bring  happiness  to 
her  home.  Nothing  but  her  love  for  Valentine  gave  her 
strength  to  resist  this  constant  temptation.  But  to-day  the 
sight  of  Louis  decided  her.  She  thought  there  could  be 
no  danger  in  confiding  in  Gaston's  brother.  The  bargain 
was  at  length  struck.  It  was  agreed  that  Fougeroux  should 
give  five  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty  francs  in  cash 


214     '  F^LE  NO.  113. 

for  the  chateau,  and  land  attached  ;  and  Joseph  was  to 
have  the  remains  of  the  furniture.  The  marquis  and  the 
dealer  shook  hands  as  they  uttered  the  final  word, 
"  Agreed  !  "  and  Fougeroux  at  once  went  himself  to  get 
a  bottle  of  extra  good  wine  with  which  to  seal  the  bargain. 

The  occasion  was  favorable  to  Mihonne.  She  walked 
quickly  over  to  where  the  Marquis  sat,  and  said,  in  a  nerv- 
ous whisper,  "  Monsieur  the  Marquis,  I  must  speak  with 
you  alone." 

*'  With  me,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"With  you.  It  is  a  secret  of  life  and  death.  This 
evening,  at  dusk,  meet  me  under  the  walnut-trees  over 
there,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything." 

Hearing  her  husband's  footsteps,  she  hastened  back  to 
her  seat.  Fougeroux  gayly  filled  the  glasses,  and  drank 
De  Clameran's  health. 

As  they  returned  to  the  boat,  Louis  debated  within  him- 
self whether  he  should  keep  this  singular  appointment. 
"Joseph,  what  the  deuce  can  that  old  witch  want  with 
me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  She  used  to  be  in  the  service  of  a  lady 
who  was  M.  Gaston's  mistress,  so  my  father  used  to  say. 
If  I  were  in  your  place,  sir,  I  would  go.  You  can  dine  at 
my  place,  and  after  dinner  Pilorel  will  row  you  over." 

Curiosity  decided  Louis  ;  and  about  seven  o'clock  he 
arrived  under  the  walnut-trees,  where  old  Mihonne  had 
already  been  waiting  a  long  time. 

"  Ah !  here  you  are  at  last,  my  dear  good  sir,"  she  said, 
in  a  tone  of  joy.     "I  was  beginning  to  despair." 

"  Yes,  here  I  am,  my  good  woman  ;  what  have  you  to 
tell  me  ? " 

"  Ah  !  many  things.  Monsieur  the  Marquis.  But  first, 
tell  me  have  you  heard  from  your  brother." 

Louis  almost  regretted  having  come,  supposing  that  the 
old  woman  was  wandering. 

"  You  know  well  enough  that  my  poor  brother  was 
drowned  in  the  Rhone." 

"Good  heav^ens  ! "  cried  Mihonne,  "are  you  ignorant, 
then,  of  his  escape  t  Yes,  he  did  what  will  never  be  done 
again  ;  he  swam  across  the  swollen  Rhone.  The  next  day 
Mademoiselle  Valentine  went  to  Clameran  to  tell  the  news  ; 
but  Jean  prevented  her  seeing  you.  Afterwards  I  took  a 
letter  for  you,  but  you  had  left." 


FILE  NO.  113.  215 

These  revelations,  after  twenty  years,  confounded  Louis. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  mistaking  your  dreams  for  real 
events,  my  good  woman  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  No,"  replied  Mihonne,  mournfully  shaking  her  head. 
"  If  old  Menoul  were  alive,  he  would  tell  you  how  he  took 
charge  of  M.    Gaston   until  he  embarked   at   Marseilles.' 
But  that  is  nothing  compared  to  the  rest.     M.  Gaston  has 
a  son." 

"  My  brother,  a  son  !     Really,  you  are  out  of  your  mind." 

"  Alas  !  no,  unfortunately  for  my  happiness  in  this 
world  and  in  the  world  to  come.  He  had  a  son,  and 
Mademoiselle  Valentine  was  the  mother.  I  received  the 
poor  babe  in  my  arms  and  carried  it  to  a  woman  abroad, 
who  was  paid  to  take  charge  of  it." 

Then  Mihonne  told  everything — the  countess's  anger, 
the  journey  to  London,  and  the  desertion  of  little  Raoul. 
With  the  accurate  memory  natural  to  people  unable  to 
read  and  write,  she  related  the  most  minute  particulars — 
the  names  of  the  village  and  the  farmer's  wife,  the  child's 
christian  and  surname,  and  the  exact  date  of  everything 
which  had  occurred.  Then  she  told  of  Valentine's  suffer- 
ing after  her  fault,  of  the  impending  ruin  of  the  countess, 
and,  finally,  of  the  poor  girl's  marriage  with  a  gentleman 
from  Paris,  who  was  so  rich  that  he  did  not  know  the  ex- 
tent of  his  fortune,  a  banker  named  Fauvel.  A  piercing 
and  prolonged  cry  here  interrupted  the  old  woman. 
"  Heavens  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  frightened  voice,  "  that 
is  my  husband  calling  me,"  and  she  hurried  back  to  the 
farmhouse  as  fast  as  her  trembling  limbs  could  carry  her. 

For  several  minutes  after  her  departure,  Louis  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot.  Her  recital  had  filled  his  wicked 
mind  with  an  idea  so  infamous,  so  detestable,  that  even 
his  vile  nature  shrank  for  a  moment  from  its  enormity. 
He  knew  the  rich  banker  by  reputation,  and  was  calcula- 
ting the  advantages  he  might  gain  by  the  strange  informa 
tion  of  which  he  was  now  possessed.  It  was  a  secret  which, 
if  skilfully  managed,  would  bring  him  in  a  handsome  in- 
come. The  few  faint  scruples  he  felt  were  silenced  by  the 
prospect  of  an  old  age  spent  in  poverty.  "  But  first  of 
all,"  he  thought,  ''  I  must  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  old 
woman's  story  ;  then  I  will  decide  upon  a  plan."  This  was 
why,  two  days  later,  having  received  the  5,280  francs  from 
Fouo;eroux,  Louis  de  Clameran  set  out  for  London, 


2i6  FILE  NO.  i\y 


XVI. 

During  the  twenty  years  of  her  married  life,  Valentine 
had  experienced  but  one  real  sorrow ;  and  this  was  one 
which,  in  the  course  of  nature,  must  happen  sooner  or 
later.  In  1859  her  mother  died  from  inflammation  of  the 
lungs,  during  one  of  her  frequent  journeys  to  Paris.  The 
countess  preserved  her  faculties  to  the  last,  and  with  her 
dying  breath  said  to  her  daughter  :  "  Ah,  well !  was  I  not 
right  in  prevailing  upon  you  to  bury  the  past  ?  Your 
silence  has  made  my  old  age  peaceful  and  happy,  for 
which  I  now  thank  you,  and  it  assures  you  a  quiet  future." 

Madame  Fauvel  constantly  said  that,  since  the  loss  of 
her  mother,  she  had  never  had  cause  to  shed  a  tear. 
And  what  more  could  she  wish  for?  As  years  rolled  on, 
Andre's  love  remained  the  same  as  it  had  been  during  the 
first  days  of  their  union.  To  the  love  that  had  not  dimin- 
ished was  added  that  sweet  intimacy  which  results  from 
long  conformity  of  ideas  and  unbounded  confidence. 
Everything  prospered  with  this  happy  couple.  Andre 
was  far  more  wealthy  than  he  had  ever  hoped  to  be,  even 
in  his  wildest  visions ;  more  so  even  than  he  or  Valentine 
desired.  Their  two  sons,  Lucian  and  Abel,  were  beauti- 
ful as  their  mother,  noble-hearted  and  intelligent  young 
men,  whose  honorable  characters  and  graceful  bearing 
were  the  glory  of  their  family.  Nothing  was  wanting  to 
insure  Valentine's  felicity.  When  her  husband  and  her 
sons  were  absent,  her  solitude  was  cheered  by  the  com- 
panionship of  an  accomplished  young  girl  whom  she  loved 
as  her  own  daughter,  and  who  in  return  filled  the  place  of 
a  devoted  child.  Madeleine  was  M.  Fauvel's  niece,  who, 
when  an  infant,  had  lost  both  parents,  poor  but  very 
worthy  people.  Valentine  adopted  the  babe,  perhaps  in 
memory  of  the  poor  little  creature  who  had  been  aban- 
doned to  strangers.  It  seemed  to  her  that  God  would 
bless  her  for  this  good  action,  and  that  Madeleine  would  be 
the  guardian  angel  of  the  house.  The  day  of  the  little 
orphan's  arrival,  M.  Fauvel  invested  for  her  ten  thousand 
francs,  which  he  presented  to  Madeleine  as  her  dowry. 
The  banker  amused  himself  by  increasing  these  ten 
thousand  francs  in  the  most  tnaryellous  ways,     He,  whQ 


FILE  NO.  113.  217 

never  ventured  upon  a  rash  speculation  with  his  own 
money,  always  invested  his  niece's  in  the  most  hazardous 
schemes,  and  was  always  so  successful  that,  at  the  end  of 
fifteen  years,  the  ten  thousand  francs  had  become  half  a 
million.  People  were  right  when  they  said  that  the  Fau- 
vel  family  were  to  be  envied.  Time  had  dulled  Valen- 
tine's remorse  and  anxiety.  In  the  genial  atmosphere  of 
a  happy  home,  she  had  almost  found  forgetfulness  and  a 
peaceful  conscience.  She  had  suffered  so  much  at  being 
compelled  to  deceive  Andr^,  that  she  hoped  she  was  now 
at  quits  with  fate.  She  began  to  look  forward  to  the  fu- 
ture, and  her  youth  seemed  but  buried  in  an  impenetrable 
mist,  the  memory  of  a  painful  dream. 

Yes,  she  believed  herself  saved,  when,  one  rainy  day  in 
November,  during  an  absence  of  her  husband's,  who  had 
gone  into  the  provinces  on  business,  one  of  the  servants 
brought  her  a  letter,  which  had  been  left  by  a  stranger, 
who  refused  to  give  his  name.  Without  the  faintest  pre- 
sentiment of  evil,  she  carelessly  broke  the  seal,  and  read : 

"  Madame, — Would  it  be  relying  too  much  upon  the 
memo/ies  of  the  past  to  hope  for  half  an  hour  of  your  time  } 
To-morrow,  between  two  and  three,  I  will  do  myself  the 
honor  of  calling  upon  you. — Marquis  de  Clameran." 

Fortunately,  Madame  Fauvel  was  alone.  Trembling  like 
a  leaf,  she  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again,  as  if  to  con- 
vince herself  that  she  was  not  the  victim  of  a  horrible  hal- 
lucination. Half  a  dozen  times,  with  a  sort  of  terror,  she 
whispered  that  name  once  so  dear — Clameran  !  spelling 
it  aloud  as  if  it  were  a  strange  name  which  she  could  not 
pronounce.  And  the  eight  letters  forming  the  name 
seemed  to  shine  like  the  lightning  which  precedes  the 
thunderbolt.  Ah !  she  had  hoped  and  believed  that  the 
fatal  past  was  atoned  for,  and  buried  in  oblivion  :  and  now 
it  suddenly  stood  before  her,  pitiless  and  threatening. 
Poor  woman  !  as  if  all  human  will  could  prevent  what  was 
fated  to  be  !  It  was  in  this  hour  of  security,  when  she  im- 
agined herself  pardoned,  that  the  storm  was  to  burst  upon 
the  fragile  edifice  of  her  happiness,  and  destroy  her  every 
hope.  A  long  time  passed  before  she  could  collect  her 
scattered  thoughts  sufficiently  to  reflect  upon  a  course  of 
action.    Then  she  began  to  think  she  w^s  foolreh  to  be  so 


2i8  FILE  NO.  113. 

frightened.  This  letter  was  written  by  Gaston,  of  course, 
therefore  she  need  feel  no  apprehension.  Gaston  had  re- 
turned to  France,  and  wished  to  see  her.  She  could  un- 
derstand this  desire,  and  she  knew  too  well  this  man, 
upon  whom  she  had  lavished  her  young  affection,  to  attrib- 
ute any  bad  motives  to  his  visit.  He  would  come ;  and 
finding  her  the  wife  of  another,  the  mother  of  a  family, 
they  would  exchange  thoughts  of  the  past,  perhaps  a  few 
regrets  ;  she  would  restore  the  jewels  which  she  had  faith- 
fully kept  for  him,  and — that  would  be  all.  But  one  dis- 
tressing doubt  beset  her  agitated  mind.  Should  she  con- 
ceal from  Gaston  the  birth  of  his  son  ?  To  confess  was  to 
expose  herself  to  many  dangers.  It  was  placing  herself 
at  the  mercy  of  a  man — a  loyal,  honorable  man,  to  be 
sure — confiding  to  him  not  only  her  own  honor  and  happi- 
ness, but  the  honor  of  her  husband  and  her  sons.  Still, 
silence  would  be  a  crime.  After  abandoning  her  child, 
and  depriving  him  of  a  mother's  care  and  affection,  she 
would  rob  him  of  his  father's  name  and  fortune. 

She  was  still  undecided,  when  the  servant  announced 
dinner.  But  she  had  not  the  courage  to  meet  the  glances 
of  her  sons.  She  sent  word  that  she  was  not  well,  and 
would  not  be  down  to  dinner.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  rejoiced  at  her  husband's  absence.  Madeleine 
came  hurrying  into  her  aunt's  room  to  see  what  was  the 
matter;  but  Valentine  dismissed  her,  saying  she  would 
try  to  sleep  off  her  indisposition.  She  wished  to  be  alone 
in  her  trouble,  and  her  mind  tried  to  imagine  what  the 
morrow  would  bring  forth.  This  dreaded  morrow  soon 
came.  She  counted  the  hours  until  two  o'clock  ;  then  she 
counted  the  minutes.  At  half-past  two  the  servant  an- 
nounced :  "  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de  Clameran." 

Madame  Fauvel  had  promised  herself  to  be  calm,  even 
cold.  During  a  long,  sleepless  night,  she  had  mentally 
arranged  beforehand  every  detail  of  this  painful  meeting. 
She  had  even  decided  upon  what  she  should  say.  She 
would  reply  this,  and  ask  that.  But,  at  the  dreaded  mo- 
ment, her  strength  gave  way ;  a  frightful  emotion  fixed 
her  to  her  seat ;  she  could  neither  speak  nor  think.  He, 
however,  bowed  respectfully,  and  remained  waiting  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  He  appeared  about  fifty  years  of  age, 
with  iron-gray  hair  and  mustache,  and  a  cold,  severe  cast 
of  countenance ;  his  expression  was  one  of  haughty  sev^r- 


FILE  NO.  113.  219 

ity  as  he  stood  there  in  his  full  suit  of  black.  The  agita- 
ted woman  tried  to  discover  in  his  face  some  traces  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  so  madly  loved,  who  had  pressed  her 
to  his  heart — the  father  of  her  son  ;  and  she  was  surprised 
to  find  in  the  person  before  her  no  resemblance  to  the 
youth  whose  memory  had  haunted  her  life — no,  nothing. 
At  length,  as  he  continued  to  remain  motionless,  she 
faintly  murmured  :  "  Gaston  !  " 

But  he,  shaking  his  head,  replied  :  "I  am  not  Gaston, 
madame  ;  my  brother  succumbed  to  the  misery  and  suffer- 
ing of  exile.     I  am  Louis  de  Clameran." 

What !  it  was  not  Gaston,  then,  who  had  written  to  her 
— it  was  not  Gaston  who  stood  before  her  ?  She  trembled 
with  terror;  her  head  whirled,  and  her  eyes  grew  dim.  It 
was  not  he  !  And  her  voice  alone,  when  she  called  him 
"Gaston,"  betrayed  her.  What,  then,  could  this  man 
want — this  brother  in  whom  Gaston  had  never  cared  to 
confide  .<*  A  thousand  probabilities,  each  one  more  terri- 
ble than  the  other,  flashed  across  her  brain.  Yet  she  suc- 
ceeded in  overcoming  her  weakness,  so  that  Louis  scarcely 
perceived  it.  The  fearful  strangeness  of  her  situation, 
the  verv  imminence  of  her  peril,  inspired  her  mind  with 
extraordinary  lucidness. 

Pointing  to  a  chair,  she  said  to  Louis  with  affected  in- 
difference :  "  Will  you  be  kind  enough,  then,  sir,  to  explain 
the  object  of  this  most  unexpected  visit  ? " 

The  marquis,  seeming  not  to  notice  this  sudden  change 
of  manner,  took  a  seat  without  removing  his  eyes  from 
Madame  Fauvel's  face.  "  First  of  all,  madame,"  he  began, 
"  I  nmst  ask  if  we  can  be  overheard  by  any  one  ?  " 

"  Why  this  question  ?  You  can  have  nothing  to  say  to 
me  that  my  husband  and  children  should  not  hear." 

Louis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said :  "  Be  good 
enough  to  answer  me,  madame  ;  not  for  my  sake,  but  for 
your  own." 

"  Speak,  then,  sir,  you  will  not  be  heard." 

In  spite  of  this  assurance,  the  marquis  drew  his  chair 
close  to  the  sofa  where  Madame  Fauvel  sat,  so  as  to  speak 
in  a  very  low  tone,  as  if  almost  afraid  to  hear  his  own  voice. 
"  As  I  told  you,  madame,"  he  resumed,  "  Gaston  is  dead ; 
and  it  was  I  who  closed  his  eyes,  and  received  his  last 
wishes.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  poor  woman  understood  only  too  well,  but    W4§ 


220  FILE  NO.  113. 

racking  her  brain  to  disc©ver  what  could  be  the  purpose 
of  this  fatal  visit.  Perhaps  it  was  only  to  claim  Gaston's 
jewels. 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  recall,"  continued  Louis,  "the 
painful  circumstances  which  blasted  my  brother's  life. 
However  happy  your  own  lot  has  been,  you  cannot  entirel)/ 
have  forgotten  that  friend  of  your  youth  who,  unhesita- 
tingly, sacrificed  himself  in  defence  of  your  honor." 

Not  a  muscle  of  Madame  Fauvel's  face  moved ;  she  ap- 
peared to  be  trying  to  recall  the  circumstances  to  which 
Louis  alluded. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  madame  ?  "  he  asked  with  bitter- 
ness. ''Then  I  must  try  and  explain  myself  more  clearly. 
A  long,  long  time  ago  you  loved  my  unfortunate  brother." 

"Sir!" 

"  Ah,  it  is  useless  to  deny  it,  madame.  I  told  you  that 
Gaston  confided  everything  to  me — everything^^^  he  added 
significantly. 

But  Madame  Fauvel  was  not  frightened  by  this  infor- 
mation. This  "  everything  "  could  not  be  of  any  importance, 
for  Gaston  had  gone  abroad  in  total  ignorance  of  her  secret. 
She  rose,  and  said  with  an  apparent  assurance  she  was  far 
from  feeling :  "  You  forget,  sir,  that  you  are  speaking  to  a 
woman  who  is  now  advanced  in  life,  who  is  married,  and 
Vv'ho  is  the  mother  of  a  family.  If  your  brother  loved  me, 
it  was  his  affair,  and  not  yours.  If,  young  and  igno- 
rant, I  was  led  into  imprudence,  it  is  not  your  place  to 
remind  me  of  it.  He  would  not  have  done  so.  This  past 
which  you  evoke  I  buried  in  oblivion  twenty  years  ago." 

"  Then  you  have  forgotten  all  that  happened  ?  " 

"  Absolutely  all." 

"  Even  your  child,  madame  ?  " 

This  question,  accompanied  by  one  of  those  looks  which 
penetrate  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  soul,  fell  upon 
Madame  Fauvel  like  a  thunder-bolt.  She  dropped  trem- 
blingly into  her  seat,  murmuring  :  "  He  knows  !  How  did 
he  discover  it.-'  "  Had  her  own  happiness  alone  been  at 
stake,  she  would  have  instantly  thrown  herself  upon  De 
Clameran's  mercy.  But  she  had  her  family  to  defend,  and 
the  consciousness  of  this  gave  her  strength  to  resist  him. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  insult  me,  sir  ?  "  she  asked. 

*' It  is  true,  then,  you  have  forgotten  Valentin-Raoul  ?  " 

She  saw  that  this  man  did  indeed  know  all.     How?    It 


FILE  NO.  113.  221 

little  mattered.  He  certainly  knew  ,•  but  she  determined 
to  deny  everything,  even  in  the  face  of  the  most  positive 
proofs,  if  he  should  produce  them.  For  an  instant  she  had 
an  idea  of  ordering  the  Marquis  De  Clameran  to  leave  the 
house ;  but  prudence  stayed  her.  She  thought  it  best  to 
find  out  what  he  was  driving  at.  "  Well,"  she  asked,  with 
a  forced  laugh,  "  what  is  it  you  want  ? " 

"  Listen,  madame.  Two  years  ago  the  vicissitudes  of 
exile  took  my  brother  to  London.  There,  at  the  house  of 
a  friend,  he  met  a  young  man  bearing  the  name  of  Raoul. 
Gaston  was  so  struck  by  the  youth's  appearance  and  in- 
telligence, that  he  inquired  who  he  was,  and  discovered 
that  beyond  a  doubt  this  boy  was  his  son,  and  your  son, 
madame." 

"  This  is  quite  a  romance  you  are  relating." 

"Yes,  madame,  a  romance,  the  denouement  of  which  is 
in  your  hands.  The  countess,  your  mother,  certainly  used 
every  precaution  to  conceal  your  secret ;  but  the  best-laid 
plans  always  have  some  weak  point.  After  your  depart- 
ure, one  of  your  mother's  London  friends  came  to  the  vil- 
lage where  you  had  been  staying.  This  lad}'  pronounced 
your  real  name  before  the  farmer's  wife  who  was  bringing 
up  the  child.  Thus,  everything  was  revealed.  My  brother 
wished  for  proofs,  he  procured  the  most  positive,  the  most 
unobjectionable." 

He  stopped  and  closely  watched  Madame  Fauvel's  face 
to  see  the  effect  of  his  words.  To  his  astonishment  she 
betrayed  not  the  slightest  agitation  or  alarm ;  she  was 
smiling. 

"Well,  what  next.''"  she  asked  carelessly. 

"  Then,  madame,  Gaston  acknowledged  the  child.  But 
the  De  Clamerans  are  poor  ;  my  brother  died  in  a  lodging- 
house  ;  and  I  have  only  an  annuity  of  twelve  hundred  francs 
to  live  upon.  What  is  to  become  of  Raoul,  alone  without 
relations  or  friends  to  assist  him  ?  This  anxiety  embit- 
tered my  brother's  last  moments." 

"  Really,  sir—" 

"  I  will  conclude,"  interrupted  Louis.  "  It  was  then 
that  Gaston  opened  his  heart  to  me.  He  told  me  to  seek 
you.  'Valentine,'  said  he,  'Valentine  will  remember;  she 
will  not  allow  our  son  to  want  for  everything,  even  bread ; 
she  is  wealthy,  very  wealthy ;  I  die  in  peace.'  " 

Madame  Fauvel  rose  from  her  seat,  evidently  with  the 


222  FILE  NO.  113. 

intention  of  dismissing  her  visitor.  "  You  must  confess^ 
sir,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  shown  great  patience." 

This  imperturbable  assurance  amazed  Louis  so  much 
that  he  did  not  reply. 

"  I  do  not  deny,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  at  one  time 
possessed  the  confidence  of  M.  Gaston  de  Clameran.  I 
will  prove  it  to  you  by  restoring  to  you  your  mother's  jewe>Sj 
with  which  he  entrusted  me  at  the  time  of  his  departure." 
While  speaking  she  took  from  beneath  the  sofa-cushion  the 
bag  of  jewels,  and  handed  it  to  Louis.  "  Here  they  are, 
sir,"  she  added ;  "  permit  me  to  express  my  surprise  that 
your  brother  never  asked  me  for  them." 

Had  he  been  less  master  of  himself,  Louis  would  hav^ 
shown  how  great  was  his  surprise.  "  I  was  told,"  he  said 
sharply,  "  not  to  mention  this  matter." 

Madame  Fauvel,  without  making  any  reply,  laid  her 
hand  on  the  bell-rope.  "  You  will  allow  me,  sir,"  she  said, 
*'  to  end  this  interview,  which  was  only  granted  for  the  pur- 
pose of  placing  in  your  hands  these  precious  jewels." 

Thus  dismissed,  M.  de  Clameran  was  obliged  to  take 
his  leave  without  attaining  his  object.  "  As  you  will,  ma- 
dame,"  he  said ;  "  I  leave  you  ;  but  before  doing  so  I  must 
tell  you  the  rest  of  my  brother's  dying  injunctions :  '  If 
Valentine  disregards  the  past,  and  refuses  to  provide  for 
our  son,  I  enjoin  it  upon  you  to  compel  her  to  do  her  duty.' 
Meditate  upon  these  words,  madame,  for  what  I  have 
sworn  to  do,  upon  my  honor,  shall  be  done  !  " 

At  last  Madame  Fauvel  was  alone.  She  could  give  vent 
to  her  despair.  Exhausted  by  her  efforts  at  self-restraint 
during  De  Clameran's  presence,  she  felt  weary  and  crushed 
in  body  and  spirit.  She  had  scarcely  strength  to  drag 
herself  up  to  her  bed-chamber,  and  to  lock  the  door.  Now 
there  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  her  fears  had  become  reali- 
ties.  She  could  fathom  the  abyss  into  which  she  was 
about  to  be  hurled,  and  knew  that  in  her  fall  she  would 
drag  her  family  with  her.  God  alone,  in  this  hour  of  dan- 
ger, could  help  her,  could  save  her  from  destruction.  She 
prayed.  "O  God,"  she  cried,  "punish  me,  for  I  am  very 
guilty,  and  I  will  evermore  adore  Thy  chastising  hand. 
Punish  me,  for  I  have  been  a  bad  daughter,  an  unworthy 
mother,  and  a  perfidious  wife.  Smite  me,  O  God,  and 
only  me!  In  Thy  just  anger  spare  the  innocent;  have 
pity  on  my  husb^ind  and  my  children  !  "     Wh^t  were  lie'' 


FILE  NO.  113.  223 

twenty  years  of  happiness  compared  to  this  hour  of 
misery  ?  A  bitter  remorse  ;  nothing  more.  Ah,  why  did 
she  Hsten  to  her  mother  ?  Why  did  she  hold  her  tongue  ? 
Hope  had  fled  forever.  This  man  who  had  left  her  pres- 
ence with  a  threat  upon  his  lips  would  return ;  she  knew 
it  well.  What  answer  could  she  give  him  t  To-day  she 
had  succeeded  in  subduing  her  heart  and  conscience  ; 
would  she  again  have  the  strength  to  master  her  feelings? 
She  well  knew  that  her  calmness  and  courage  were  entire- 
ly due  to  De  Clameran's  unskilfulness.  Why  did  he  not 
use  entreaties  instead  of  threats  !  When  Louis  spoke  of 
Raoul,  she  could  scarcely  conceal  her  emotion  •,  her  ma- 
ternal heart  yearned  towards  the  innocent  child  who  was 
expiating  his  mother's  faults.  A  chill  of  horror  passed 
over  her  at  the  idea  of  his  enduring  the  pangs  of  hunger. 
Her  child  wanting  bread,  when  she,  his  mother,  was  roll- 
ing in  wealth  !  Ah,  why  could  she  not  lay  all  her  posses- 
sions at  his  feet  1  With  what  delight  would  she  undergo 
the  greatest  privations  for  his  sake !  If  she  could  but 
send  him  enough  money  to  support  him  comfortably ! 
But  no  ;  she  could  not  take  this  step  without  compromising 
herself  and  her  family.  Prudence  forbade  her  acceptance 
of  Louis  de  Clameran's  intervention.  To  confide  in  him, 
was  placing  herself,  and  all  she  held  dear,  at  his  mercy, 
and  this  inspired  her  with  instinctive  terror.  Then  she  be- 
gan to  ask  herself  if  he  had  really  spoken  the  truth.  In 
thinking  over  Louis's  story,  it  seemed  improbable  and  dis- 
connected. If  Gaston  had  been  living  in  Paris,  in  the 
poverty  described  by  his  brother,  why  had  he  not  demand- 
ed of  the  married  woman  the  deposit  entrusted  to  the 
maiden  ?  Why,  when  anxious  about  their  child's  future, 
had -he  not  come  to  her,  since  he  believed  her  to  be  so  rich 
that,  on  his  deathbed,  it  was  she  he  relied  upon.  A 
thousand  vague  apprehensions  beset  her  mind  ;  she  felt 
suspicion  and  distrust  of  every  one  and  everything.  She 
was  aware  that  a  decisive  step  would  bind  her  forever, 
and  then,  what  would  not  be  exacted  of  her  1  For  a  moment 
she  thought  of  throwing  herself  at  her  husband's  feet  and 
confessing  all.  Unfortunately,  she  thrust  aside  this  means 
of  salvation.  She  pictured  to  herself  the  mortification 
and  sorrow  that  her  noble-hearted  husband  would  suffer 
upon  discovering,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty  years,  how  shame- 
fully he  had  been  deceived.     Having  been  deceived  from 


224      ■  P^LE  NO.  113. 

the  very  first,  would  he  not^believe  that  it  had  been  so  ever 
since  ?  Would  he  believe  in  her  fidelity  as  a  wife,  when 
he  discovered  her  perfidy  as  a  young  girl  ?  She  under- 
stood Andre  well  enough  to  know  that  he  would  say  noth- 
ing, and  would  use  every  means  to  conceal  the  scandal. 
But  his  domestic  happiness  would  be  gone  forever.  He 
would  forsake  his  home  ;  his  sons  would  shun  her  presence, 
and  every  family  bond  would  be  severed.  She  thought  of 
ending  her  doubts  by  suicide ;  but  her  death  would  not 
silence  her  implacable  enemy,  who,  not  able  to  disgrace 
her  while  alive  would  dishonor  her  memory. 

Fortunately,  the  banker  was  still  absent ;  and,  during 
the  two  days  succeeding  Louis's  visit,  Madame  Fauvel  was 
able  to  keep  her  room  under  pretence  of  illness.  But 
Madeleine,  with  her  feminine  instinct,  saw  that  her  aunt 
was  troubled  by  something  worse  than  the  nervous  attack 
for  which  the  physician  was  prescribing  all  sorts  of  reme- 
dies. She  noticed,  too,  that  this  sudden  illness  seemed 
to  have  been  caused  by  the  visit  of  a  stern-looking  stran- 
ger, who  had  been  closeted  for  a  long  time  with  her  aunt. 
Madeleine  felt  so  sure  that  something  was  wrong,  that,  on 
the  second  day,  seeing  Madame  Fauvel  more  anxious  still, 
she  ventured  to  say  :  "What  makes  you  so  sad,  dear  aunt  t 
Tell  me,  shall  I  ask  our  good  priest  to  come  and  see  you  ?  " 
With  a  sharpness  foreign  to  her  nature,  which  was  gentle- 
ness itself,  Madame  Fauvel  refused  to  listen  to  her  niece's 
suggestion.  What  Louis  calculated  upon  happened.  Af- 
ter long  reflection,  not  seeing  any  issue  to  her  deplorable 
situation,  Madame  Fauvel  little  by  little  determined  to 
yield.  By  consenting  to  all,  she  had  a  chance  of  saving 
everything.  She  well  knew  that  to  act  thus  was  to  prepare 
a  life  of  torture  for  herself ;  but  she  alone  would  be  the 
victim,  and,  at  any  rate,  she  would  be  gaining  time.  In 
the  mean  time,  M.  Fauvel  had  returned  home,  and  Valen- 
tine resumed  her  accustomed  ways.  But  she  was  no 
longer  the  happy  mother  and  devoted  wife,  whose  smiling 
presence  was  wont  to  fill  the  house  with  sunshine  and  coni' 
fort.  She  was  beset  by  the  most  frightful  anxieties. 
Hearing  nothing  of  De  Clameran,  she  expected  to  see 
him  appear,  so  to  say,  at  any  moment ;  trembling  at  every 
ring  of  the  bell,  turning  pale  whenever  the  door  opened, 
and  not  daring  to  leave  the  house,  for  fear  he  should  come 
during  her   absercci.    The   condemned   man,  who,  each 


FILE  NO.  1x3.  225 

morning  on  awaking,  asks  himself,  "Is  it  for  to-day?" 
does  not  suffer  more  dreadful  agony.  De  Clameran  did 
not  come  ;  he  wrote,  or  rather,  as  he  was  too  prudent  to 
furnish  arms  which  could  be  used  against  himself,  he  had 
a  note  written,  which  Madame  Fauvel  alone  might  under- 
standj  in  which  he  said  that,  bemg  ill,  he  begged  she  would 
excuse  his  being  obliged  to  make  an  appointment  with  her 
for  the  next  day  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.  The  letter  was 
almost  a  relief  to  Madame  Fauvel.  Anything  was  prefer- 
able to  suspense.  She  was  ready  to  consent  to  everything. 
She  burned  the  letter,  and  said  to  herself :  "  I  will  go." 

The  next  day  towards  the  appointed  time,  she  dressed 
herself  in  the  plainest  of  her  black  dresses,  in  the  bonnet 
which  concealed  her  face  the  most,  placed  a  thick  veil  in 
her  pocket,  and  started  forth.  It  w^as  not  until  she  found 
herself  a  considerable  distance  from  her  home  that  she 
ventured  to  hail  a  cab,  which  soon  set  her  down  at  the 
Hotel  du  Louvre  Here  her  uneasiness  increased.  Her 
circle  of  acquaintances  being  large,  she  was  in  terror  of 
being  recognized.  What  would  her  friends  think,  if  they 
saw  her  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  dressed  as  she  was .'' 
Any  one  would  naturally  suspect  an  intrigue,  a  rendezvous ; 
and  her  character  would  be  ruined  forever.  This  was  the 
first  time  since  her  marriage  that  she  had  had  occasion  for 
mystery  ;  and,  in  her  inexperience,  her  efforts  to  escape 
notice  were  in  every  way  calculated  to  attract  attention. 
The  concierge  said  that  the  Marquis  de  Clameran's  room 
was  on  the  third  floor.  She  hurried  up  the  stairs,  glad  to 
escape  the  scrutinizing  glances  which  she  imagined  were 
fixed  upon  her  ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  minute  directions  given 
by  the  concierge,  she  lost  her  way  in  the  immense  hotel, 
and  for  a  long  time  wandered  about  the  interminable  cor- 
ridors. Finally,  she  found  a  door  bearing  the  number 
sought, — 317.  She  stood  leaning  against  the  wall  with 
her  hand  pressed  to  her  throbbing  heart,  which  seemed 
ready  to  burst.  Now^,  at  the  moment  of  risking  this  de- 
cisive step,  she  felt  paralyzed  with  fright.  The  sight  of  a 
stranger  traversing  the  corridor  ended  her  hesitations. 
With  a  trembling  hand  she  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  voice. 

She  entered.  But  it  was  not  the  Marquis  de  Clameran 
who  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  it  was  quite  a  young 
man,  almost  a  youth,  who  looked  at  her  with  a  singular  ex- 


226  FILE  NO.  113. 

pression.  "  Madame  Fauvel  thought  that  sh^  had  mis' 
taken  the  room.  "  Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said,  blushing 
deeply :  "  I  thought  that  this  was  the  Marquis  de  Cla- 
meran's  room." 

"  It  is  his  room,  madame,"  replied  the  young  man  ;  then 
seeing  she  was  silent,  and  about  to  leave,  he  added  :  "  I 
presume  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  Madame  Fau- 
vel ? " 

She  nodded  affirmatively,  shuddering  at  the  sound  of 
her  own  name,  and  frightened  at  this  proof  of  De  Cla- 
meran's  betrayal  of  her  secret  to  a  stranger.  With  visible 
anxiety  she  awaited  an  explanation. 

"  Fear  nothing,  madame,"  resumed  the  j^oung  man : 
"  you  are  as  safe  here  as  if  you  were  in  your  own  draw- 
ing-room. M.  de  Clameran  desired  me  to  make  his  ex- 
cuses ;  you  will  not  see  him." 

"  But,  sir,  from  an  urgent  letter  sent  by  him  yesterday, 
I  was  led  to  suppose — I  inferred — " 

"When  he  wrote  to  you,  madame,  he  had  projects  in 
view  which  he  has  since  renounced  forever." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  too  surprised,  too  agitated  to  think 
clearly.  Beyond  the  present  she  could  see  nothing.  "  Do 
you  mean,"  she  asked  with  distrust,  "that  he  has  changed 
his  intentions  ?  " 

The  young  man's  face  was  expressive  of  sad  compassion, 
as  if  he  shared  the  unhappy  woman's  sufferings.  "The 
marquis  has  renounced,"  he  said  in  a  melancholy  tone, 
"  what  he  wrongly  considered  a  sacred  duty.  Believe  me, 
he  hesitated  a  long  time  before  he  could  decide  to  apply 
to  you  on  a  subject  painful  to  you  both.  You  repelled 
him,  you  were  obliged  to  refuse  to  hear  him.  He  knew 
not  what  imperious  reasons  dictated  your  conduct.  Blinded 
by  unjust  anger,  he  swore  to  obtain  by  threats  what  you 
refused  to  give  voluntarily.  Resolved  to  attack  your  do- 
mestic happiness,  he  had  collected  overwhelming  proofs 
against  you.  Pardon  him  :  an  oath  given  to  his  dying 
brother  bound  him."  He  took  from  the  mantlepiece  a 
bundle  of  papers  through  which  he  glanced  as  he  continued 
speaking:  "These  proofs  that  cannot  be  denied,  I  now 
hold  in  my  hand.  This  is  the  certificate  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Sedley ;  this  the  declaration  of  Mrs.  Dobbin,  the  farmer's 
wife ;  and  these  others  are  the  statements  of  the  physician 
and  of  several  persons  who  were  acquainted  with  Madame 


FILE  NO.  113.  227 

de  La  Verberie  during  her  stay  near  London.  Not  a  single 
link  is  missing.  I  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  these 
papers  away  from  M.  de  Clameran.  Perhaps  he  had  a 
suspicion  of  my  intentions.  This,  madame,  is  what  I  in- 
tended doing  with  these  proofs." 

With  a  rapid  motion  he  threw  the  bundle  of  papers  into 
the  fire,  where  they  blazed  up,  and,  in  a  moment,  nothing 
remained  of  them  but  a  little  heap  of  ashes.  "All  is  now 
destroyed,  madame,"  he  resumed,  his  eyes  sparkling  with 
the  most  generous  resolutions.  "  The  past,  if  you  desire 
it,  is  as  completely  annihilated  as  those  papers.  If  any 
one,  hereafter,  dares  accuse  you  of  having  had  a  son  be- 
fore your  marriage,  treat  Him  as  a  vile  calumniator.  There 
are  no  longer  any  proofs  ;  you  are  free." 

Madame  Fauvel  began  to  understand  the  sense  of  this 
scene — the  truth  dawned  upon  her  bewddered  mind.  This 
noble  youth,  who  protected  her  from  De  Clameran's  anger, 
who  restored  her  peace  of  mind  and  the  exercise  of  her 
own  free  will,  by  destroying  all  proofs  of  her  past,  who  in 
fact  saved  her,  was,  must  be,  the  child  whom  she  had 
abandoned — Valentin-Raoul.  At  this  moment  she  forgot 
everything.  Maternal  tenderness,  so  long  restrained,  now 
welled  up  and  overflowed  as,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice, 
she  murmured  :  "  Raoul !  " 

At  this  name,  uttered  in  so  thrilling  a  tone,  the  young 
man  staggered,  as  if  overcome  by  an  unhoped-for  happiness. 
"  Yes,  Raoul,"  he  cried  ;  "  Raoul,  who  would  rather  die  a 
thousand  times  than  cause  his  mother  the  slightest  pain  ; 
Raoul,  who  would  shed  his  life's  blood  to  spare  her  one 
tear." 

She  made  no  attempt  to  struggle  nor  resist;  all  her  body 
trembled  as  she  recognized  her  first-born.  She  opened 
her  arms,  and  Raoul  sprang  into  them,  saying,  in  a  choked 
voice  :  "  Mother  !  my  dear  mother  !  Bless  you  for  this 
first  kiss !  " 

Alas !  this  was  the  sad  truth.  This  dear  son  she  had 
never  seen  before.  He  had  been  taken  from  her,  despite 
her  prayers  and  tears,  without  a  mother's  embrace ;  and 
this  kiss  she  had  just  given  him  was  indeed  the  first.  But 
joy  so  great,  following  upon  so  much  anguish,  was  more 
than  the  excited  mother  could  bear ;  she  sank  back  in  her 
chair  almost  fainting,  and,  with  a  sort  of  meditative  rapture, 
gazed  in  an  eager  way  upon  her  long-lost  son,  who  was  now 


328  FILE  NO.  \\y 

kneeling  at  her  feet.  With  her  hand  she  stroked  his  soft 
curls ;  she  admired  his  white  forehead,  pure  as  a  young 
girl's,  and  his  large,  trembling  eyes ;  and  she  hungered 
after  his  red  lips. 

"  O  mother !  "  he  said ;  "  words  cannot  describe  my  feel- 
ings when  I  heard  that  my  uncle  had  dared  to  threaten 
you.  He  threaten  you  !  Ah  !  when  my  father  told  him  to 
apply  to  you,  he  was  no  longer  in  his  right  mind.  I  have 
known  you  for  a  long,  long  time.  Often  have  my  father  and 
I  hovered  around  your  happy  home  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
you  through  the  window.  When  you  passed  by  in  your 
carriage,  he  would  say  to  me :  *  There  is  your  mother, 
Raoul ! '  To  look  upon  you  was  our  greatest  joy.  When 
we  knew  you  were  going  to  a  ball,  we  would  wait  near  the 
door  to  see  you  enter,  beautiful  and  adorned.  How  often, 
in  the  depth  of  winter,  have  I  raced  with  your  fast  horses, 
to  admire  you  till  the  last  moment !  " 

Tears — the  sweetest  tears  she  had  ever  shed — coursed 
down  Madame  Fauvel's  cheeks,  as  she  listened  to  the 
musical  tones  of  Raoul's  voice.  This  voice  was  so  like 
Gaston's,  that  it  recalled  to  her  the  fresh  and  adorable 
sensations  of  heryjuth.  She  seemed  to  live  over  again 
those  early  stolen  meetings — to  feel  once  more  the  beat- 
ings of  her  virgin  heart.  It  seemed  as  though  nothing  had 
happened  since  Gaston  folded  her  in  his  fond  embrace. 
Andrd,  her  two  sons,  Madeleine — all  were  forgotten  in  this 
new-found  affection. 

Raoul  went  on  to  say :  "  Only  yesterday  I  learnt  that 
my  uncle  had  been  to  demand  for  me  a  few  crumbs  of  your 
wealth.  Why  did  he  take  such  a  step  1  I  am  poor,  it  is 
true — very  poor ;  but  I  am  too  familiar  with  poverty  to  be 
frightened  of  it.  I  have  a  clear  brain  and  willing  hands — 
they  will  earn  me  a  living.  You  are  very  rich,  I  have  been 
told.  What  is  that  to  me  ?  Keep  all  your  fortune,  my 
darling  mother  ;  but  give  me  a  corner  in  your  heart.  Let 
me  love  you.  Promise  me  that  this  first  kiss  shall  not  be 
the  last.  No  one  will  ever  know  ;  be  not  afraid.  I  shall 
be  able  to  hide  my  happiness." 

And  Madame  Fauvel  had  dreaded  this  son  !  Ah  !  how 
bitterly  did  she  now  reproach  herself  for  not  having  sooner 
flown  to  meet  him.  She  questioned  him  regarding  the 
past;  she  wished  to  know  how  he  had  lived — what  he  had. 
been  doing.     He  replied  that  he  had  nothing  to  conceal ; 


FILE  NO.  113.  229 

Ais  existence  had  been  that  of  every  poor  man's  child. 
The  farmer's  wife  who  had  brought  him  up  had  always 
treated  him  with  affection.  She  had  even  given  him  an 
education  superior  to  his  condition  in  life,  and  rather  be- 
yond her  means,  because  she  thought  him  so  handsome 
and  intelligent.  When  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  she 
procured  him  a  situation  in  a  banking-house  ;  and  he  was 
commencing  to  earn  his  own  living,  when  one  day  a 
stranger  came  to  him,  and  said  :  "  I  am  your  father,"  and 
took  him  away  with  him.  Since  then  nothing  was  wanting 
to  his  happiness,  save  a  mother's  tenderness.  He  had 
suffered  but  one  great  sorrow,  and  that  was  the  day  when 
Gaston  de  Clameran — his  father — had  died  in  his  arms. 
"  But  now,"  he  said,  "  all  is  forgotten.  Have  I  been  un- 
happy ?  I  no  longer  know,  since  I  see  you — since  I  love 
you." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  oblivious  of  the  lapse  of  time,  but 
fortunately  Raoul  was  on  the  watch.  "  Why,  it  is  seven 
o'clock ! "  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  This  exclamation 
brought  Madame  Fauvel  abruptly  back  to  the  reality. 
Seven  o'clock  !  What  would  her  family  think  of  this  long 
absence  .'* 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again,  mother  ?  "  asked  Raoul,  as  they 
were  about  to  separate. 

"  O  yes  !  "  she  replied,  fondly  ;  "yes,  often,  every  day, 
to-morrow." 

But  now.  for  the  first  time  since  her  marriage,  Madame 
Fauvel  perceived  that  she  was  not  mistress  of  her  actions. 
Never  before  had  she  had  occasion  to  wish  for  uncontrolled 
liberty.  She  left  her  heart  and  soul  behind  her  in  the 
room  of  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  where  she  had  just  found 
her  son.  She  was  compelled  to  leave  him,  to  undergo  the 
intolerable  agony  of  composing  her  face  to  conceal  this 
great  happiness,  which  had  changed  her  whole  life  and  be- 
ing. Having  some  difficulty  in  procuring  a  cab,  it  was 
more  than  half-past  seven  when  she  reached  the  Rue  de 
Provence,  where  she  found  the  family  waiting  dinner  for 
her.  She  thought  her  husband  silly,  and  even  vulgar,  when 
he  joked  her  upon  being  late.  So  strange  are  the  sudden 
effects  of  a  new  passion,  that  she  regarded  almost  with 
contempt  this  unbounded  confidence  he  reposed  in  her. 
And  she,  ordinarily  so  timorous,  replied  to  his  jest  with 
imperturbable  calmness,  almost  without  an  effort.    So  intox' 


230  FILE  NO.  113. 

icating  had  been  her  sensations  while  with  Raoul,  that  in 
her  joy  she  was  incapable  of  desiring  anything  else — of 
dreaming  of  aught  save  the  renewal  of  those  delightful 
emotions.  No  longer  was  she  a  devoted  wife — an  incom- 
parable mother.  She  scarcely  thought  of  her  two  sons. 
They  had  always  been  happy  and  beloved.  They  had  a 
father — they  were  rich  ;  whilst  the  other,  the  other  !  oh, 
how  much  reparation  was  owing  to  him  !  In  her  blind- 
ness, she  almost  regarded  her  family  as  responsible  for 
Raoul's  sufferings.  Her  folly  was  complete.  No  remorse 
for  the  past,  no  apprehensions  for  the  future,  disturbed 
her  conscience.  To  her  the  future  was  to-morrow ;  eter- 
nity— the  sixteen  hours  which  separated  her  from  another 
interview.  To  her,  Gaston's  death  seemed  to  absolve  the 
past  as  well  as  the  present.  But  she  regretted  she  was 
married.  Free,  she  could  have  consecrated  herself  exclu- 
sively to  Raoul  She  was  rich,  but  how  gladly  would  she 
have  sacrificed  her  affluence  to  enjoy  poverty  with  him ! 
Neither  her  husband  nor  sons  would  ever  suspect  the 
thoughts  which  absorbed  her  mind ;  but  she  dreaded 
her  niece.  She  imagined  that  Madeleine  looked  at  her 
strangely  on  her  return  home.  Did  she  suspect  some- 
thing ?  For  several  days  she  had  asked  embarrassing  ques- 
tions.    She  must  beware  of  her. 

This  uneasiness  changed  the  affection  which  Madame 
Fauvel  had  hitherto  felt  for  her  adopted  daughter  into 
positive  dislike.  She,  so  kind  and  loving,  regretted  having 
placed  over  herself  a  vigilant  spy  from  whom  nothing  es- 
caped. She  pondered  what  means  she  could  take  to  avoid 
the  penetrating  watchfulness  of  a  girl  who  was  accustomed 
to  read  in  her  face  every  thought  that  crossed  her  mind. 
With  unspeakable  satisfaction  she  thought  of  a  way  which 
she  imagined  would  please  all  parties.  During  the  last 
two  years  the  banker's  cashier  and  protege.  Prosper  Ber- 
tomy,  had  been  devoted  in  his  attentions  to  Madeleine. 
Madame  Fauvel  decided  to  do  all  in  her  power  to  hasten 
matters,  so  that,  Madeleine  once  married  and  out  of  the 
house,  there  would  be  no  one  to  criticize  her  own  move- 
ments. That  very  evening,  with  a  duplicity  of  which  she 
would  have  been  incapable  a  few  days  before,  she  began 
to  question  Madeleine  about  her  sentiments  towards  Pros- 
per. 

"  Ah,  ah,  mademoiselle,"  she  said  gayly,  "is  it  thus  you 


FILE  NO.  113.  231 

permit  yourself  to  choose  a  husband  without  my  permis- 
sion." 

"  But,  aunt !  I  thought  you — " 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  you  thought  I  had  suspected  the  trua 
state  of  affairs?  That  is  precisely  what  I  had  done." 
Then,  in  a  serious  tone,  she  added  :  "  Therefore,  nothing 
remains  but  to  obtain  the  consent  of  Master  Prosper.  Do 
you  think  he  will  grant  it?  " 

"  He  !  aunt.     Ah  !  if  he  only  dared — " 

"  Ah,  indeed  !   you  seem  to  know  all  about  it,  made-  . 
moiselle." 

Madeleine,  blushing  and  confused,  hung  her  head,  and 
said  nothing.  Madame  Fauvel  drew  her  towards  her,  and 
continued  in  her  most  affectionate  voice  ;  "  My  dear  child, 
do  not  be  distressed.  Is  it  possible  that  you,  usually  so 
sharp,  supposed  us  to  be  in  ignorance  of  your  secret  ?  Did 
you  think  that  Prosper  would  have  been  so  warmly  wel- 
comed by  your  uncle  and  myself,  had  we  not  approved  of 
him  in  every  respect  ?  " 

Madeleine  threw  her  arms  round  her  aunt's  neck,  and 
murmured  :  "  Oh,  thank  you,  my  dear  aunt,  thank  you  ; 
you  are  kind,  you  love  m.e  !  " 

Madame  Fauvel  said  to  herself :  ''  I  will  make  Andre 
speak  to  Prosper,  and  before  two  months  are  over  the 
marriage  can  take  place." 

Unfortunately,  Madame  Fauvel  was  so  engrossed  by  her 
new  passion,  which  did  not  leave  her  a  moment  for  reflec- 
tion, that  she  put  off  this  project.  Spending  a  portion  of 
each  day  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  with  Raoul,  she  did  not 
cease  devoting  her  thoughts  to  insuring  him  an  independ 
ent  fortune  and  a  good  position.  She  had  not  yet  ventured 
to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject.  She  imagined  that  she 
had  discovered  in  him  all  his  father's  noble  pride  and  sen- 
sitiveness. She  anxiously  wondered  if  he  would  ever  ac- 
cept the  least  assistance  from  her.  The  Marquis  de  Cla 
meran  quieted  her  doubts  on  this  point.  She  had  fre- 
quently met  him  since  the  day  on  which  he  had  so  fright- 
ened her,  and  to  her  first  aversion  had  succeeded  a  secret 
sympathy.  She  felt  kindly  towards  him  for  the  affection 
ne  lavished  on  her  son.  If  Raoul,  with  the  heedlessness 
of  youth,  mocked  at  the  future,  Louis,  the  man  of  the  world, 
seemed  very  anxious  about  his  nephew's  welfare.     So  that, 


232  FILE  NO.  113. 

one  day,  after  a  few  general  observations,  he  approached 
this  serious  question. 

"  The  pleasant  life  my  nephew  leads  is  all  very  well," 
he  commenced,  "but  would  it  not  be  prudent  for  him  to 
seek  some  employment  ?     He  has  no  fortune." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  uncle,  do  let  me  enjoy  my  present  happi- 
ness.    What  is  the  use  of  any  change  1     What  do  I  want  ?  " 

"  You  want  for  nothing  at  present,  Raoul ;  but  when 
your  resources  are  exhausted,  and  mine  too — which  will  be 
in  a  short  time — what  will  become  of  you  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  will  enter  the  army.  All  the  De  Clamerans  are 
born  soldiers  ;  and  if  a  war  breaks  out — " 

Madame  Fauvel  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips,  and  said  in 
a  reproachful  tone  :  "  Cruel  boy  !  become  a  soldier  ? 
Would  you,  then,  deprive  me  of  the  joy  of  seeing  you  ?  " 

"  No,  mother  dear ;  no." 

"  You  see,''  insisted  Louis,  "  that  you  must  listen  to  us." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  ;  but  some  other  time.  I  will  work 
and  earn  no  end  of  money." 

"  How,  poor  foolish  boy  ?     What  can  you  do  ? " 

"  Oh  !  never  mind.  I  don't  know  now  ;  but  set  your 
mind  at  rest,  I  will  find  a  way." 

Finding  it  impossible  to  make  this  self-sufficient  youth 
listen  to  reason,  Louis  and  Madame  Fauvel,  after  discuss- 
ing the  matter  fully,  decided  that  assistance  must  be  forced 
upon  him.  It  was  difficult,  however,  to  choose  a  profes- 
sion ;  and  De  Clameran  thought  it  prudent  to  wait  awhile, 
and  study  the  bent  of  the  young  man's  mind.  In  the 
mean  while,  it  was  decided  that  Madame  Fauvel  should 
place  funds  at  the  marquis's  disposal  for  Raoul's  support. 
Regarding  Gaston's  brother  in  the  light  of  a  father  to  her 
child,  Madame  Fauvel  soon  found  him  indispensable. 
She  continually  wanted  to  see  him,  either  to  consult  him 
concerning  some  new  idea  which  occurred  to  her,  or  to 
impress  upon  him  some  good  advice  to  be  given.  Thus 
she  was  well  pleased  when  one  day  he  requested  the  hon- 
or of  being  allowed  to  call  upon  her  at  her  own  house. 
Nothing  was  easier  than  to  introduce  the  Marquis  de  Cla- 
meran to  her  husband  as  an  old  friend  of  her  family;  and, 
after  once  being  admitted,  he  could  soon  become  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance.  Madame  Fauvel  soon  had  reason  to 
congratulate  herself  upon  this  arrangement.  Unable  to 
'^ontinue  to  go  to  Raoul  every  day,  and  not  daring,  if  she 


FILE  NO.  113.  233 

wrote  to  him,  to  receive  his  replies,  she  obtained  news  of 
him  through  Louis. 

For  about  a  month  things  went  on  smoothly,  when  one 
day  the  marquis  confessed  that  Raoul  was  giving  him  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  His  hesitating,  embarrassed  man- 
ner frightened  Madame  Fauvel.  She  thought  something 
had  happened,  and  that  he  was  trying  to  break  the  bad 
news  gently. 

"  What  is  the  matter  "i  "  she  asked. 

*'  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  replied  De  Clameran,  "  that  this 
young  man  has  inherited  all  the  pride  and  passions  of  his 
ancestors.  He  is  one  of  those  natures  who  stop  at 
nothing,  who  find  incitement  in  opposition ;  and  I  can 
think  of  no  way  of  checking  him  in  his  mad  career." 

"  Merciful  heaven  !  what  has  he  been  doing }  " 

"  Nothing  particularly  censurable  ;  nothing  irreparable, 
certainly ;  but  I  am  afraid  of  the  future.  He  is  still 
unaware  of  the  liberal  allowance  which  you  have  placed  in 
my  hands  for  his  benefit ;  he  thinks  that  I  support  him, 
and  yet  he  throws  away  money  as  if  he  were  the  son  of  a 
millionaire." 

Like  all  mothers,  Madame  Fauvel  attempted  to  excuse 
her  son.  "  Perhaps  you  are  a  little  severe,"  she  said. 
*'  Poor  child,  he  has  suffered  so  much  !  He  has  undergone 
so  many  privations  during  his  childhood,  that  this  sud- 
den happiness  and  wealth  has  turned  his  head ;  he  seizes 
on  pleasure  as  a  starving  man  seizes  on  a  piece  of  bread. 
Is  it  so  surprising  ?  Ah,  only  have  patience,  and  he  will 
soon  return  to  the  path  of  duty ;  he  has  a  good  heart." 

"  He  has  suffered  so  much !  "  was  Madame  Fauvel's 
constant  excuse  for  Raoul.  This  was  her  invariable  reply 
to  M.  de  Clameran's  complaints  of  his  nephew's  conduct. 
And,  having  once  commenced,  he  was  now  constant  in  his 
accusations  against  Raoul. 

"  Nothing  restrains  his  extravagance  and  dissipation," 
Louis  would  say  in  a  mournful  voice  ;  "  the  instant  a  piece 
of  folly  enters  his  head,  it  is  carried  out,  no  matter  at  what 
cost." 

But  Madame  Fauvel  saw  no  reason  why  her  son  should 
be  thus  harshly  judged.  *'  We  must  remember,"  she 
replied  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "  that  from  infancy  he  has 
been  left  to  his  own  unguided  impulses.  The  unfortunate 
boy  n-ever  had  a  niother  to  tend  and  council  him.     You 


234  FILE  NO.  113. 

must  remember,  too,  that  in  his  childhood  he  never  knew 
a  father's  guidance." 

"  There  is  some  excuse  for  him,  to  be  sure  ;  but  never- 
theless he  must  change  his  present  course.  Could  you  not 
speak  seriously  to  him,  madame  ?  You  have  more  influence 
over  him  than  I." 

She  promised,  but  did  not  keep  her  promise.  She  had 
so  little  time  to  devote  to  Raoul,  that  it  seemed  cruel  to 
spend  it  in  reprimands.  Sometimes  she  would  hurry 
from  home  for  the  purpose  of  following  the  marquis's 
advice  ;  but,  the  instant  she  saw  Raoul,  her  courage  failed , 
a  pleading  look  from  his  soft,  dark  eyes  silenced  the 
rebuke  upon  her  lips ,  the  sound  of  his  voice  banished 
eveiy  anxious  thought  from  her  mind.  But  De  Clameran 
was  not  a  man  to  lose  sight  of  the  main  object ;  he  would 
have  no  compromise  with  duty.  His  brother  had  be- 
queathed to  him,  as  a  precious  trust,  his  son  Raoul ;  he 
regarded  himself,  he  said,  as  his  guardian,  and  would  be 
held  responsible  in  another  world  for  his  welfare.  He 
entreated  Madame  Fauvel  to  use  her  influence,  when  he 
found  himself  powerless  in  trying  to  check  the  heedless 
youth  in  his  downward  career.  She  ought,  for  the  sake  of 
her  child,  to  see  more  of  him,  in  fact,  every  day. 

"  Alas,"  the  poor  woman  replied,  "  that  would  be  my 
heart's  desire.  But  how  can  I  do  it  ?  Have  I  the  right 
to  ruin  myself }  I  have  other  children,  for  whom  I  must 
be  careful  of  my  reputation." 

This  answer  appeared  to  astonish  De  Clameran.  A 
fortnight  before,  Madame  Fauvel  would  not  have  alluded 
to  her  other  sons.  "  I  will  think  the  matter  over,"  said 
Louis,  "  and  perhaps  when  I  see  you  next  I  shall  be  able 
to  submit  to  you  a  plan  which  will  reconcile  everything." 

The  reflections  of  a  man  of  so  much  experience  could 
not  be  fruitless.  He  had  a  relieved,  satisfied  look,  when 
he  called  to  see  Madame  Fauvel  in  the  following  week. 
*'  I  think  I  have  solved  the  problem,"  he  said. 

"  What  problem  t  " 

"  The  means  of  saving  Raoul." 

He  explained  himself  by  saying  that  as  Madame  Fauvel 
could  not,  without  arousing  her  husband's  suspicions, 
visit  Raoul  daily,  she  must  receive  him  at  her  own  house. 
This  proposition  shocked  Madame  Fauvel ;  for  though  she 
had  been  imprudent,  even  culpable,  she  was  the  soul  ot 


FILE  NO.  113.  235 

honor,  and  naturally  shrank  from  the  idea  of  introducing 
Raoul  into  the  midst  of  her  family,  and  seeing  him  wel- 
comed by  her  husband,  and  perhaps  become  the  friend  of 
his  sons.  Her  instinctive  sense  of  justice  made  her 
declare  that  she  would  never  consent  to  such  an  infamous 
step. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  marquis  thoughtfully ;  "  but  then  it  is 
the  only  chance  of  saving  your  child." 

But  this  time,  at  least,  she  resisted,  and  with  an  indigna- 
tion and  an  energy  capable  of  shaking  a  will  less  strong 
than  the  Marquis  de  Clameran's.  "  No,"  she  repeated, 
"no  ;  I  can  never  consent." 

Unhappy  woman  !  little  did  she  know  of  the  pitfalls 
which  stand  ever  ready  to  swallow  up  wanderers  from  the 
straight  path.  Before  a  week  had  passed  she  listened  to 
this  project,  which  at  first  had  filled  her  with  horror,  with 
a  willing  ear,  and  even  began  to  devise  means  for  its 
speedy  execution.  Yes,  after  a  cruel  struggle,  she  finally 
yielded  to  the  pressure  of  De  Clameran's  politely  uttered 
threats  and  Raoul's  wheedling  entreaties. 

"  But  how  ?  "  she  asked,  "  upon  what  pretext  can  I 
receive  Raoul  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,"  replied 
De  Clameran,  "  to  introduce  him  as  an  ordinary  acquaint- 
ance, as  I,  myself,  have  the  honor  of  being.  But  Raoul 
must  be  more  than  that." 

After  torturing  Madame  Fauvel  for  a  long  time,  and 
almost  driving  her  out  of  her  mind,  he  finally  revealed  his 
scheme.  "  We  have  in  our  hands,"  he  said,  "  the  solution 
of  the  problem.     It  is  an  inspiration." 

Madame  Fauvel  eagerly  scanned  his  face  as  she  listened 
with  the  pitiable  resignation  of  a  martyr. 

"  Have  you  not  a  cousin,  a  widow  lady,  who  had  two 
daughters,  living  at  St.  Remy  ?  "  continued  Louis. 

*'  Yes,  Madame  de  Lagors." 

"  Precisely  so.     What  fortune  has  she  ?  " 

"  She  is  poor,  sir,  very  poor." 

"  And,  but  for  the  assistance  you  render  her  secretly, 
she  w^ould  be  thrown  upon  the  charity  of  the  world." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  bewildered  at  finding  the  marquis 
so  well  informed  of  her  private  affairs.  "  How  could  you 
have  discovered  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

*'  Oh,  I  know  all  about  this   affair,  and  many  others  be- 


236  FILE  NO.  113. 

sides.  I  know,  for  instance,  that  your  husband  knows 
none  of  your  relatives,  and  that  he  is  scarcely  aware  of  the 
existence  of  your  cousin  De  Lagors.  Do  you  begin  to 
comprehend  my  plan  ?  " 

She  understood  it  slightly,  and  was  asking  herself  how 
she  could  resist  it. 

"  This,"  continued  Louis,  "  is  what  I  have  planned. 
To-morrow  or  next  day,  you  will  receive  a  letter  from 
your  cousin  at  St.  Remy,  telling  you  that  she  has  sent  her 
son  to  Paris,  and  begging  you  to  watch  over  him.  Nat- 
urally you  show  this  letter  to  your  husband-,  and  a  few 
days  afterwards  he  warmly  welcomes  your  nephew,  Raoul 
de  Lagors,  a  handsome,  rich,  attractive  young  man,  who 
will  do  everything  he  can  to  please  him,  and  who  will 
succeed." 

"  Never,  sir,"  replied  Madame  Fauvel,  "  my  cousin  is 
a  pious,  honorable  woman,  and  nothing  would  induce  her 
to  countenance  so  shameful  a  transaction." 

The  marquis  smiled  scornfully^  and  asked  :  "  Who  told 
you  that  I  intended  to  confide  in  her  ?  " 

"  But  you  would  be  obliged  to  do  so  !  " 

"  You  are  very  simple,  madame.  The  letter  which  you 
will  receive,  and  show  to  your  husband,  will  be  dictated 
by  me,  and  posted  at  St.  Remy  by  a  friend  of  mine.  If  I 
spoke  of  the  obligations  under  which  you  have  placed  your 
cousin,  it  was  merely  to  show  you  that,  in  case  of  accident, 
her  own  interest  would  make  her  serve  you.  Do  you  see 
any  other  obstacle  to  this  plan,  madame  ? " 

Madame  Fauvel's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  "  Is 
my  will  of  no  account  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  seem  to 
have  made  your  arrangements  without  consulting  me  at 
all." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  marquis  with  ironical  politeness ; 
"  I  am  sure  that  you  will  take  the  same  view  of  the  matter 
as  myself." 

"  But  it  is  a  crime,  sir,  that  you  propose — an  abominable 
crime ! " 

This  speech  seemed  to  arouse  all  the  bad  passions  slum- 
bering in  De  Clameran's  bosom  ;  and  his  pale  face  had  a 
fiendish  expression  as  he  fiercely  replied  :  "  I  think  we 
do  not  quite  understand  each  other.  Before  you  begin  to 
talk  about  crime,  think  over  your  past  life.  You  were  not 
§0  timid  and    scrupulous  when  you  gave  yourself  up  tQ 


FILE  NO.   113.  237 

your  lover.  It  is  true  that  you  did  not  hesitate  to  refuse 
to  share  his  exile,  when  for  your  sake  he  had  just  jeopar- 
dized his  life  by  killing  two  men.  You  felt  no  scruples  at 
abandoning  your  child  in  London  ;  although  rolling  in 
wealth,  you  never  even  inquired  if  this  poor  waif  had 
bread  to  eat.  You  felt  no  scruples  about  marrying  M. 
Fauvel.  Did  you  tell  your  confiding  husband  of  the  lines 
'A  shame  concealed  beneath  your  wreath  of  orange-blos- 
som ?  No  !  All  these  crimes  you  indulged  in  ;  and,  when 
in  Gaston's  name  I  demand  reparation,  you  mdignantly 
refuse  !  It  is  too  late  !  You  ruined  the  father;  but  you 
shall  save  the  son,  or  I  swear  you  shall  no  longer  cheat 
the  world  of  its  esteem." 

"  I  will  obey  you,  sir,"  murmured  the  trembling,  fright- 
ened woman. 

The  following  week  Raoul,  now  Raoul  de  Lagors,  was 
seated  at  the  banker's  dinner-table,  between  Madame 
Fauvel  and  Madeleine. 

XVII. 

It  was  not  without  the  most  acute  suffering  and  self- 
condemnation  that  Madame  Fauvel  submitted  to  the  will 
of  the  relentless  Marquis  de  Clameran.     She  had  used 
every  argument  and  entreaty  to  soften  him  ;  but  he  merely 
looked  upon  her  with  a  triumphant,  sneering  smile,  when 
she  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  unplored  him  to  be    merciful. 
Neither  tears  nor  prayers  moved  his  depraved  soul.     Dis- 
appointed, and  almost  desperate,  she  sought  the  intercession 
.of  her  son.     Raoul  was  in  a  state   of  furious  indignation 
at  the  sight  of  his  mother's  distress,  and  hastened  to  de- 
mand an  apology  from  De  Clameran.     But  he  had  reckoned 
without  his  host.     He  soon  returned  with  downcast  eyes, 
and    moodily  angry  at  his    own  powerlessness,  declaring 
that  safety  demanded  a  complete  surrender  to  the  tyrant. 
Now  only  did  the  wretched  woman  fully  fathom  the  abyss 
into  which  she  was    being  dragged,  and  clearly  see    the 
labyrinth  of  crime  of  which  she  was  becoming   the  victim. 
A.nd  all  this  suffering  was  the  consequence  of  a  fault,  an 
mterview  granted  to  Gaston.     Ever  since  that  fatal  day  she 
had  been   vainly   struggling  against  the  implacable  logic  of 
events.     Her  life  had  been  spent  in  trying  to  overcome  the 


^38  FILE  NO   \\\ 

past,  and  now  it  had  risen  to  crush  her.  The  hardest  thing 
of  all  to  do,  the  act  that  most  wrung  her  heart,  was  showing 
to  her  husband  the  forged  letter  from  St.  Remy,  and  saying 
that  she  expected  soon  to  see  her  nephew,  a  quite  young 
man,  and  very  rich  !  But  words  cannot  paint  the  torture  she 
endured  on  the  evening  she  introduced  Raoul  to  her  fam- 
ily. It  was  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  that  the  banker  wel- 
comed this  nephew,  of  whom  he  had  never  heard  before. 
*'  It  is  natural,"  said  he,  as  he  held  out  his  hand,  "  when 
one  is  young  and  rich,  to  prefer  Paris  to  St.  Remy." 
Raoul  did  his  utmost  to  deserve  this  cordial  reception. 
If  his  early  education  had  been  neglected,  and  he  lacked 
those  delicate  refinements  of  manner  and  conversation 
which  home  influence  imparts,  his  superior  tact  concealed 
these  defects.  He  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  reading 
characters,  and  adapting  his  conversation  to  the  minds 
of  his  listeners.  Before  a  week  had  gone  by,  he  was  a 
favorite  with  M.  Fauvel,  intimate  with  Abel  and  Lucien, 
and  inseparable  from  Prosper  Bertomy,  the  cashier,  who 
then  spent  all  his  evenings  with  the  banker's  family. 
Charmed  at  the  favorable  impression  made  by  Raoul 
Madame  Fauvel  recovered  comparative  ease  of  mind,  and 
at  times  almost  congratulated  herself  upon  having  obeyed 
the  marquis,  and  began  once  more  to  hope.  Alas !  she 
rejoiced  too  soon. 

Raoul's  intimacy  with  his  cousins  threw  him  among  a 
set  of  rich  young  men,  and  as  a  consequence,  instead  of 
reforming,  he  daily  grew  more  dissipated  and  reckless. 
Gambling,  racing,  expensive  suppers,  made  money  slip 
through  his  fingers  like  grains  of  sand.  This  proud  young 
man,  whose  sensitive  delicacy  not  long  since  made  him  re- 
fuse to  accept  aught  save  affection  from  his  mother,  now 
never  approached  her  without  demanding  large  sums  of 
money.  At  first  she  gave  with  pleasure,  without  stopping 
to  count  the  cash.  But  she  soon  perceived  that  her  gen- 
erosity, if  she  did  not  keep  it  within  bounds,  would  be  her 
ruin.  This  rich  woman,  whose  magnificent  diamonds,, 
elegant  toilets,  and  superb  equipages  were  the  admiration 
and  envy  of  Paris,  knew  misery  in  its  bitterest  form  :  that 
of  not  being  able  to  gratify  the  desires  of  a  beloved  being. 
Her  husband  had  never  thought  of  giving  her  a  fixed  sum 
for  expenses.  The  day  after  their  wedding  he  gave  her  a 
key  to  his  secretary,  and  ever  since,  she  had  been   in  the 


PILE  NO.  113.  235 

habit  of  freely  taking  the  money  necessary  for  keeping  up 
the  establishment,  and  for  her  own  personal  requiremenli. 
But  the  fact  of  her  having  always  been  so  modest  in  her 
personal  expenses,  that  her  husband  used  to  jest  her  on 
the  subject,  and  of  her  having  managed  the  household  ex- 
penditure in  a  most  judicious  manner,  she  was  not  able  to 
sudd<inly  dispose  of  large  sums,  without  giving  rise  to 
embarrassing  questions.  M.  Fauvel,  the  most  generous 
of  millionaires,  would  have  delighted  to  see  his  wife  in- 
dulge in  any  extravagance,  no  matter  how  foolish ;  but  he 
would  naturally  expect  to  see  traces  of  the  money  spent, 
something  to  show  for  it.  The  banker  might  suddenly 
discover  that  much  more  than  the  usual  amount  of  money 
was  used  in  the  house ;  and,  if  he  should  ask  the  cause  of 
ihis  astonishing  outlay,  what  answer  could  she  give  ? 

In  three  months,  Raoul  had  squandered  a  little  fortune. 
In  the  first  place,  he  was  obliged  to  have  bachelor's  apart- 
ments, prettily  furnished.  He  was  in  want  of  everything, 
just  like  a  shipwrecked  sailor.  He  asked  for  a  horse 
and  brougham,  how  could  she  refuse  him  ?  Then  every 
day  there  was  some  fresh  whim  to  be  satisfied. 

When  she  would  gently  remonstrate,  Raoul's  beautiful 
eyes  would  fill  with  tears,  and  in  a  sad,  humble  tone  he 
would  say :  "  Alas  !  I  am  a  child,  a  poor  fool,  I  ask  too  much. 
I  forget  that  I  am  only  the  son  of  poor  Valentine,  and  not 
of  the  rich  banker's  wife  !  " 

This  touching  repentance  wrung  her  heart.  The  poor 
boy  had  suffered  so  much  that  it  was  her  duty  to  console 
him,  and  she  would  finish  by  excusing  him.  She  soon  dis- 
covered that  he  was  jealous  and  envious  of  his  two  brothers 
— for,  after  all,  they  were  his  brothers — Abel  and  Lucien. 

"  You  never  refuse  them  anything,"  he  would  say ; 
''  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter  life  by  the  golden 
gate.  Their  every  wish  is  gratified ;  they  enjoy  wealth, 
position,  home  affection,  and  have  a  splendid  future  await- 
ing them." 

"  But  what  is  lacking  to  your  happiness,  unhappy  child  ?  " 
Madame  Fauvel  v;ould  ask  in  despair. 

"What  do  I  want  1  apparently  nothing,  in  reality  ever}'- 
thmg.  Do  I  possess  anything  legitimately  ?  What  right 
have  I  to  your  affection,  to  the  comforts  and  luxuries  you 
heap  upon  me,  to  the  name  I  bear  ?  Have  I  not,  so  to  say, 
stolen  even  my  life  ?  " 


240  PILE  NO.  113. 

When  Raoul  talked  in  this  strain,  she  was  ready  to  do 
anything,  so  that  he  should  not  be  envious  of  her  two  other 
sons.  As  spring  approached,  she  told  him  she  wished  hira 
to  spend  the  summer  in  the  country,  near  her  villa  at  St. 
Germain.  She  expected  he  would  offer  some  objection. 
But  not  at  all.  The  proposal  seemed  to  please  him,  and 
a  few  days  after  he  told  her  he  had  rented  a  little  house  at 
Vdsinet,  and  intended  having  his  furniture  moved  into  it, 

"  Then,  just  think,  dear  mother,  what  a  happy  summer 
we  will  spend  tog'ether  !  "  he  said  with  beaming  eyes. 

She  was  delighted  for  many  reasons,  one  of  which  was 
that  the  prodigal's  expenses  would  probably  diminish. 
Anxiety  as  to  the  exhausted  state  of  her  finances  made  her 
bold  enough  to  chide  him  at  the  dinner-table  one  day  for 
having  lost  two  thousand  francs  at  the  races  the  day  before. 

"  You  are  severe,  my  dear,"  said  M.  Fauvel  with  the 
carelessness  of  a  rich  man.  "  Mamma  De  Lagors  will  pay  ; 
mammas  were  created  for  the  special  purpose  of  paying." 
And,  not  observing  the  effect  these  words  had  upon  his 
wife,  he  turned  to  Raoul,  and  added  :  "  Don't  worry  your- 
self, my  boy ;  when  you  want  money,  come  to  me,  and  I 
will  lend  you  some." 

What  could  Madame  Fauvel  say  ?  Had  she  not  fol- 
lowed De  Clameran's  orders,  and  announced  that  Raoul 
was  very  rich  1  Why  had  she  been  made  to  tell  this  un- 
necessary lie  ?  She  all  at  once  perceived  the  snare  which 
had  been  laid  for  her  :  but  now  she  was  caught,  and  it  was 
too  late  to  struggle.  The  banker's  offer  was  soon  accepted. 
That  same  week  Raoul  went  to  his  uncle,  and  boldly  bor- 
rowed ten  thousand  francs.  When  Madame  Fauvel  heard 
of  this  piece  of  audacity,  she  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 

*'  What  can  he  want  with  so  much  money  ?  "  she  moaned 
to  herself. 

For  some  time  De  Clameran  had  kept  away  from 
Madame  Fauvel's  house.  She  decided  to  write  and  ask 
him  to  call.  She  hoped  that  this  energetic,  determined 
man,  who  was  so  fully  awake  to  his  duties  as  a  guardian, 
would  make  Raoul  listen  to  reason.  When  De  Clameran 
heard  what  had  taken  place,  his  surprise  and  anger  were 
unbounded.  A  violent  altercation  ensued  between  him  and 
RaouL  But  Madame  Fauvel's  suspicions  were  aroused  : 
she  watched  them,  and  it  seemed  to  her — could  it  be  pos- 
sible— that  their  anger  was  feigned ;   that,  although  tliey 


FILE  NO.  113.  241 

abused  and  even  threatened  each  other  in  the  bitterest 
language,  their  eyes  were  smiling.  She  dared  not  breathe 
her  doubts  ;  but,  like  a  subtle  poison  which  disorganizes 
everything  with  which  it  comes  in  contact,  this  new  sus- 
picion filled  her  thoughts,  and  added  to  her  already  in- 
tolerable sufferings.  Yet  she  never  once  thought  of  blam- 
ing Raoul,  for  she  still  loved  him  madly.  She  accused 
the  marquis  of  taking  advantage  of  the  youthful  weak- 
nesses and  inexperience  of  his  nephew.  She  knew  that 
she  would  have  to  suffer  insolence  and  extortion  from 
this  man  who  had  her  completely  in  his  power ;  but  she 
could  not  penetrate  his  motive  for  acting  as  he  did.  Pie 
soon  acquainted  her  with  it. 

One  day,  after  complaining  more  bitterly  than  usual  of 
Raoul,  and  proving  to  Madame  Fauvel  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  this  state  of  affairs  to  continue  much  longer,  the 
marquis  declared  that  he  saw  but  one  way  of  preventing 
a  catastrophe.  This  was,  that  he  (De  Clameran)  should 
marry  Madeleine.  Madame  Fauvel  had  long  ago  been 
prepared  for  anything  his  cupidity  could  attempt.  But  if 
she  had  given  up  all  hope  of  happiness  for  herself,  if  she 
consented  to  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  peace  of  mind,  it  was 
because  she  thus  hoped  to  insure  the  security  of  those  dear 
to  her.  This  unexpected  declaration  shocked  her.  "  Do 
you  suppose  for  an  instant,  sir,"  she  indignantly  exclaimed, 
"  that  1  will  consent  to  any  such  disgraceful  project  .'*  " 

With  a  nod,  the  marquis  answered  :  "  Yes." 

"  What  sort  of  a  woman  do  you  think  I  am,  sir  ?  Alas  ! 
I  was  very  guilty  once,  but  the  punishment  now  exceeds 
the  fault.  And  does  it  become  you  to  be  constantly  re- 
proaching me  with  my  long-past  imprudence  ?  So  long  as 
I  alone  had  to  suffer,  you  found  me  weak  and  timid  ;  but, 
now  that  you  attack  those  I  love,  I  rebel." 

"  Would  it  then,  madame,  be  such  a  very  great  misfor- 
tune for  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  to  become  the  Mar- 
chioness de  Clameran  ? " 

"  My  niece,  sir,  chose,  of  her  own  free  will,  a  husband 
whom  she  will  shortly  marry.  She  loves  M.  Prosper 
Bertomy," 

The  marquis  disdainfully  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  A 
school-girl-love  affair,"  said  he  ;  "  she  will  forget  all  aboat 
it  when  you  wish  her  to  do  so." 

"  I  will  never  wish  it," 
16 


242  t^^LE  NO.  113. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  replied,  in  the  low,  suppressed  tone 
of  a  man  trying  to  control  himself ;  "  let  us  not  waste  time 
in  these  idle  discussions.  Hitherto  you  have  always  com- 
menced by  protesting  against  my  proposed  plans,  and  in 
the  end  acknowledged  the  good  sense  and  justness  of  my 
arguments.  This  time,  also,  you  will  oblige  me  by  yield- 
ing." 

"  Never,"  said  Madame  Fauvel ;  "  never  !  " 

De  Clameran  paid  no  attention  to  this  interruption,  but 
went  on  :  "  If  I  insist  upon  this  marriage,  it  is  because  it 
will  re-establish  your  affairs,  as  well  as  ours.  Of  course 
you  see  that  the  allowance  you  give  your  son  is  insuffi- 
cient for  his  extravagant  style  of  living.  The  time  ap- 
proaches when  you  will  have  nothing  more  to  give  him, 
and  you  will  no  longer  be  able  to  conceal  from  your  hus- 
band your  constant  encroachments  on  the  housekeeping 
money.     When  that  day  comes,  what  is  to  be  done  }  " 

Madame  Fauvel  shuddered.  The  dreaded  day,  of  which 
the  marquis  spoke,  could  not  be  far  off. 

"  Then,"  he  continued,  "  you  will  render  justice  to  my 
wise  forethought,  and  to  my  good  intentions.  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine  is  rich ;  her  dowry  will  enable  me  to  supply 
the  deficit,  and  save  you." 

"  I  would  rather  be  ruined  than  be  saved  by  such 
means." 

"  But  I  will  not  permit  you  to  ruin  us  all.  Remember, 
madame,  that  we  are  associated  in  a  common  cause — 
Raoul's  future  welfare." 

"  Cease  your  importunities,"  she  said,  looking  him  stead- 
ily in  the  face.     "I  have  made  up  my  mind  irrevocably." 

"To  what?" 

"  To  do  everything  and  anything  to  escape  your  shame- 
ful persecution.  Oh  !  yoa  need  not  smile.  I  shall,  if 
necessary,  throw  myself  at  M.  Fauvel's  feet,  and  confess 
everything.  He  loves  me,  and,  knowing  how  I  have  suf- 
fered, will  forgive  me." 

"  Do  you  think  so  .''  "  asked  De  Clameran,  derisively. 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  he  will  be  pitiless,  and  banish 
me  from  his  roof  !  So  be  it ;  it  will  only  be  what  I  deserve. 
There  is  no  torture  that  I  cannot  bear,  after  what  I  have 
suffered  through  you." 

This  inconceivable  resistance  so  upset  all  the  marquis's 
plans  that  he  lost  all  constraint,  and,  dropping  the  mask 


FILE  NO.   113.  243 

of  politeness,  appeared  in  his  true  character.  "  Inclet.d  !  " 
he  said,  in  a  fierce  brutal  tone ;  "  so  you  have  decided  to 
confess  to  your  husband  !  A  famous  idea  !  What  a  pity 
you  did  not  think  of  it  before  !  Confessing  everything 
the  first  day  I  called  on  you,  you  might  have  been  forgiven. 
Your  husband  might  have  pardoned  a  youthful  fault, 
atoned  for  by  twenty  years  of  irreproachable  conduct;  for 
none  can  deny  that  you  have  been  a  faithful  wife  and  a 
good  mother.  But  picture  the  indignation  of  your  trust- 
ing husband,  when  you  tell  him  that  this  pretended  nephew 
— whom  you  impose  upon  his  family  circle,  who  sits  at 
his  table,  who  borrows  his  money — is  your  illegitimate 
son  !  M.  Fauvel  is,  no  doubt,  an  excellent,  kind-hearted 
man  ;  but  I  scarcely  think  he  will  pardon  a  deception  of 
this  nature,  which  betrays  such  depravity,  duplicity,  and 
audacity." 

All  that  the  angry  marquis  said  was  horribly  true  ;  yet, 
Madame  Fauvel  listened  unflinchingly. 

*'  Upon  my  word,"  he  went  on,  "  you  must  be  very 
much  infatuated  with  this  M.  Bertomy !  Between  the 
honor  of  your  husband's  name,  and  pleasing  this  love-sick 
cashier,  you  refuse  to  hesitate.  Well,  I  suppose  it  will 
console  you  when  M.  Fauvel  separates  from  you,  and  Abel 
and  Lucien  avert  their  faces  at  your  approach,  and  blush 
at  being  your  sons — it  will  be  very  sweet  to  be  able  to 
say  :  '  I  have  made  Prosper  happy  ! '  " 

"  Happen  what  may,  I  shall  do  what  is  right,"  said 
Madame  Fauvel. 

"  You  shall  do  what  I  tell  you  !  "  cried  De  Clameran, 
threateningly.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  I  will  allow  your 
sentimentality  to  blast  all  my  hopes  ?  Your  niece's  for- 
tune is  indispensable  to  us,  and,  more  than  that,  I  love  the 
fair  Madeleine." 

The  blow  once  struck,  the  marquis  judged  it  prudent  to 
await  the  result.  With  cool  politeness,  he  added  :  "  I  will 
leave  you  now,  madame,  to  think  the  matter  over.  Be- 
lieve me,  consent  to  this  sacrifice — it  will  be  the  last  re- 
quired of  you.  Think  of  the  honor  of  your  family,  and 
not  of  your  niece's  love  affairs.  I  will  call  in  three 
days  for  your  answer." 

"  You  will  come  uselessly,  sir.  I  shall  tell  my  husband 
<ver}-thing,  as  soon  as  he  returns." 

If  Madame  Fauvel  had  not  been    so  agitated   herself 


244  PILE  NO.  113. 

she  would  have  detected  an  expression  of  alarm  upon  De 
Clameran's  face.  But  this  uneasiness  was  only  moment 
tary.  With  a  shrug,  which  meant,  "Just  as  you  please," 
he  said :  "  I  think  you  have  sense  enough  to  keep  your 
secret." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  left  the  room,  but  slammed 
the  door  after  him  with  a  violence  that  betrayed  the  con- 
straint he  had  imposed  upon  himself.  De  Clameran  had 
cause  for  fear.  Madame  Fauvel's  determination  was  not 
feigned.  "  Yes,"  she  cried,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  noble 
resolution;  "yes,  I  will  tell  Andre  everything." 

She  believed  herself  to  be  alone,  but  turned  round  sud- 
denly at  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  Madeleine,  who  was  pale  as  a  statue,  and 
whose  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "  You  must  obey  this  man, 
aunt,"  she  quietly  said. 

Adjoining  the  drawing-room  were  two  little  card-rooms, 
shut  off  only  by  heavy  silk  curtains.  Madeleine,  unknown 
to  her  aunt,  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  little  rooms  when  the 
marquis  arrived,  and  had  overheard  the  conversation. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  cried  Madame  Fauvel  with  terror  ; 
^'  do  you  know — " 

"  I  know  everything,  aunt." 

"  And  you  wish  me  to  sacrifice  you  to  this  fiend  ?  " 

*'  I  implore  you  to  let  me  save  you." 

"You  must  certainly  hate  M.  de  Clameran." 

"  I  hate  him,  aunt,  and  despise  him.  He  will  always  be 
for  me  the  basest  of  men  ;  nevertheless  I  will  marry  him." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  overcome  by  the  magnitude  of  this 
devotion.  "  And  what  is  to  become  of  Prosper,  my  poor 
child — Prosper,  whom  you  love  .''  " 

Madeleine  stifled  a  sob,  and  replied  in  a  firm  voice  : 
"  To-morrow  I  will  break  off  my  engagement  with  M.  Ber- 
tomy." 

"  I  will  never  permit  such  a  wrong,"  cried  Madame 
Fauvel.  "  I  will  not  add  to  my  sins  by  suffering  an  inno- 
cent girl  to  bear  their  penalty." 

The  noble  girl  sadly  shook  her  head,  and  replied  : 
**  Neither  will  I  suffer  dishonor  to  fall  upon  this  house,  which 
is  my  home,  while  I  have  power  to  prevent  it.  Am  I  not 
indebted  to  you  for  more  than  life  ?  What  would  I  now  be 
had  you  not  taken  pity  on  me  ?  A  factory  girl  in  my  na- 
tive town.     You  warmly  welcomed  the  poor  orphan,  and 


PILE  NO.  113.  S45 

became  a  mother  to  her.  Is  it  not  to  your  husband  that 
I  owe  the  fortune  which  excitt-s  this  villain's  cupidity  ? 
Are  not  Abel  and  Lucien  brothers  to  me  ?  And  now, 
when  the  happiness  of  us  all  is  at  stake,  do  you  suppose 
I  would  hesitate  ?  No.  I  will  become  the  wife  of  De 
Clameran." 

Then  began  a  struggle  of  self-sacrifice  between  Madame 
Fauvel  and  her  niece,  as  to  which  should  be  the  victim; 
and  all  the  more  sublime,  because  each  offered  her  life  to 
the  other,  not  from  any  sudden  impulse,  but  deliberately 
and  willingly.  But  Madeleine  was  bound  to  triumph,  fired 
as  she  was  by  that  holy  enthusiasm  of  sacrifice  which 
makes  martyrs. 

*'  I  am  responsible  to  none  but  myself,"  said  she,  well 
knowing  this  to  be  the  most  vulnerable  point  she  could 
attack  ;  "  whilst  you,  dear  aunt,  are  accountable  to  your 
husband  and  children.  Think  of  my  uncle's  pain  and  sor- 
row if  he  should  ever  learn  the  truth  !     It  would  kill  hini." 

The  generous  girl  was  right.  After  having  sacrificed 
her  husband  to  her  mother,  Madame  Fauvel  was  about  to 
immolate  her  husband  and  children  for  Raoul.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing,  a  first  fault  draws  many  others  in  its  train.  As 
an  impalpable  snowflake  may  be  the  beginning  of  an  ava- 
lanche, so  an  imprudence  is  often  the  prelude  to  a  great 
crime.  To  false  situations  there  is  but  one  safe  issue — 
truth. 

Madame  Fauvel's  resistance  grew  weaker  and  weaker. 
"But,"  she  faintly  argued,  "  I  cannot  accept  your  sacrifice. 
What  sort  of  a  life  will  you  lead  with  this  man  ?  " 

"We  can  hope  for  the  best,"  replied  Madeleine,  wdth  a 
cheerfulness  she  was  far  from  feeling ;  "  he  loves  me,  he 
says  ;  perhaps  he  will  be  kind  to  me." 

"Ah,  if  I  only  knew  where  to  obtain  money!  It  is 
money  that  the  grasping  man  wants  ;  money  alone  will 
satisfy  him." 

"  Does  he  not  want  it  for  Raoul  ?  Has  not  Raoul,  by  his 
extravagant  follies,  dug  an  abyss  which  must  be  bridged 
over  by  money  ?  If  I  could  only  believe  M.  de  Cla- 
meran  !  " 

Madame  Fauvel  looked  at  her  niece  with  bewildered 
curiosity.  What !  this  inexperienced  girl  had  weighed  the 
matter  in  its  different  lights  before  deciding  upon  a  sur- 
render; whereas,   she,  a  wife  and  a  mother,  had  blindly 


246  FILE  NO.  113. 

yielded  to  the  inspirations  of  her  heart !  "  What  do  you 
mean  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  mean  this,  aunt,  that  I  do  not  believe  that  De  Cla- 
mcran  has  any  thought  of  his  nephew's  welfare^  Once  in 
possession  of  my  fortune,  he  may  leave  you  and  Raoul  to 
your  fates.  And  there  is  another  dreadful  suspicion  that 
tortures  my  mind." 

"  A  suspicion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  would  reveal  it  to  you,  if  I  dared ;  if  I  did 
not  fear  that  you — " 

"  Speak  !  "  insisted  Madame  Fauvel.  "  Alas  !  misfor- 
tune has  given  me  strength.  I  can  fear  nothing  worse 
than  what  has  already  happened.  I  am  ready  to  hear 
anything." 

Madeleine  hesitated ;  she  wished  to  enlighten  her  cred- 
ulous aunt,  and  yet  feared  to  distress  her.  "  I  would  like 
to  be  certain,"  she  said,  "  that  some  secret  understanding 
between  M.  de  Clameran  and  Raoul  does  not  exist,  that 
they  are  not  acting  a  part  agreed  upon  between  them 
beforehand." 

Love  is  blind  and  deaf.  Madame  Fauvel  no  longer 
remembered  the  laughing  eyes  of  the  two  men,  upon  the 
occasion  of  the  pretended  quarrel  in  her  presence.  She 
could  not,  she  would  not,  believe  in  such  hypocrisy.  ''  It 
is  impossible,"  she  said :  "  the  marquis  is  really  indig- 
nant and  distressed  at  his  nephew's  mode  of  life,  and 
he  certainly  would  never  give  him  any  bad  advice.  As  to 
Raoul,  he  is  vain,  trifling,  and  extravagant ;  but  he  has 
a  good  heart.  Prosperity  has  turned  his  head,  but  he 
loves  me.  Ah,  if  you  could  see  and  hear  him,  when  I 
reproach  him  for  his  faults,  your  suspicions  would  fly  to 
the  winds.  When  he  tearfully  promises  to  be  more 
prudent,  he  means  to  keep  his  word.  If  he  breaks  his 
promises,  it  is  because  perfidious  friends  lead  him  astrav." 

Mothers  always  blame  their  children's  friends.  The 
friend  is  the  guilty  one.  Madeleine  had  not  the  heart  to 
undeceive  her  aunt.  "  God  grant  that  what  you  say  may 
be  true,"  she  said  ;  "if  so,  my  marriage  will  not  be  use- 
less.     We  will  write  to  M.  de  Clameran  to-night." 

"  Why  to-night,  Madeleine  ?  We  need  not  hurry  so. 
Let  us  wait  a  little  ;  something  might  happen  to  save  us." 

These  words — this  confidence  in  chance,  in  a  mere  noth- 
ing— revealed  Madame  Fauvel's  true  character,  and  9,0 


FILE  NO.  113.  247 

counted  for  her  troubles.  Timid,  hesitating,  easily  swayed, 
she  never  could  come  to  a  firm  decision,  form  a  resolution, 
and  abide  by  it,  in  spite  of  all  arguments  brought  to  bear 
against  it.  In  the  hour  of  peril  she  would  always  shut 
her  eyes,  and  trust  to  chance  for  a  relief  which  never  came. 
Quite  different  was  Madeleine's  charater.  Beneath  her 
gentle  timidity,  lay  a  strong,  self-reliant  will.  Once  de- 
cided upon  a  sacrifice,  it  was  to  be  carried  out  to  the  let- 
ter ;  she  shut  out  all  deceitful  illusions,  and  walked  straight 
forward  without  one  look  back. 

"  We  had  better  end  the  matter  at  once,  dear  aunt," 
she  said,  in  a  gentle  but  firm  tone.  "  Believe  me,  the 
reality  of  misfortune  is  not  as  painful  as  its  apprehension. 
You  cannot  bear  the  shocks  of  sorrow,  and  delusive  hopes 
of  happiness,  much  longer.  Do  you  know  what  anxiety  of 
mind  has  done  to  you  ?  Have  you  looked  in  your  mirror 
during  the  last  four  months  ?  "  She  led  her  aunt  up  to  a 
looking-glass,  and  said  :  "  Look  at  yourself."  Madame 
Fauvel  was,  indeed,  a  mere  shadow  of  her  former  self. 
She  had  reached  the  perfidious  age  when  a  woman's 
beauty,  like  a  full-blown  rose  fades  in  a  day.  Four 
months  of  trouble  had  made  her  an  old  woman.  Sorrow 
had  stamped  its  fatal  seal  upon  her  brow.  Her  fair,  soft 
skin  was  wrinkled,  her  hair  was  streaked  with  silver. 
"  Do  you  not  agree  with  me,"  continued  Madeleine,  pity- 
ingly, "  that  peace  of  mind  is  necessary  to  you  ?  Do 
you  not  see  that  you  are  a  wreck  of  your  former  self  t  Is 
it  not  a  miracle  that  M.  Fauvel  has  not  noticed  this  sad 
change  in  you  ?  "  Madame  Fauvel,  who  flattered  herself 
that  she  had  displayed  wonderful  dissimulation,  shook  her 
head.  "  Alas  !  my  poor  aunt !  did  I  not  discover  that  you 
had  a  secret  ?  " 

"  You,  Madeleine  }  " 

"  Yes  !  only  I  thought — Oh  !  pardon  an  unjust  suspi- 
cion, but  I  was  wicked  enough  to  suppose — "  She  stopjDed, 
too  distressed  to  finish  her  sentence ;  then,  making  a. 
painful  effort,  she  added  :  "  I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  you 
loved  another  man  better  than  my  uncle." 

Madame  Fauvel  sobbed  aloud.  Madeleine's  suspicion 
might  be  entertained  by  others.  "  My  reputation  is  gone," 
she  moaned. 

"No,  dear  aunt,  no,"  exclaimed  the   young  girl,  "cjg 


248  FILE  NO.  113. 

not  be  alarmed.  Have  courage  :  we  two  can  fight  now ;  w| 
will  defend  ourselves,  we  will  save  ourselves." 

The  Marquis  de  Clameran  was  agreeably  surprised  that 
evening  by  receiving  a  letter  from  Madame  Fauvel,  say- 
ing that  she  consented  to  everything,  but  must  have  a  lit- 
tle time  to  carry  out  the  plan.  Madeleine,  she  said,  could 
not  break  off  her  engagement  with  M.  Bertomy  in  a  day. 
M.  Fauvel  would  make  objections,  for  he  had  an  affection 
for  Prosper,  and  had  tacitly  approved  of  the  match.  It 
would  be  wiser  to  leave  to  time  the  smoothing  away  of  certain 
obstacles  which  a  sudden  attack  might  render  insurmount- 
able. A  line  from  Madeleine,  at  the  bottom  of  her  letter, 
assured  him  of  her  consent. 

Poor  girl  I  she  did  not  spare  herself.  The  next  day 
she  took  Prosper  aside,  and  forced  from  him  the  fatal 
promise  to  shun  her  in  the  future,  and  to  take  upon  him- 
self the  responsibility  of  breaking  their  engagement.  He 
implored  Madeleine  to  at  least  explain  the  reason  of  this 
banishment,  which  destroyed  all  his  hopes  of  happiness. 
She  simply  replied  that  her  peace  of  mind  and  honor  de- 
pended upon  his  obedience.  He  left  her  sick  at  heart. 
As  he  went  out  of  the  house,  the  marquis  entered.  Yes, 
he  had  the  audacity  to  come  in  person,  to  tell  Madame 
Fauvel  that,  now  he  had  the  promise  of  herself  and  Made- 
leine, he  would  consent  to  wait  awhile.  He  himself  saw 
the  necessity  of  patience,  knowing  that  he  was  not  liked 
by  the  banker.  Having  the  aunt  and  niece  in  his  power, 
he  was  certain  of  success.  He  said  to  himself  that  the 
moment  would  come  when  a  deficit  impossible  to  be  re- 
placed would  force  them  to  hasten  the  wedding.  And 
Raoul  did  all  he  could  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  Mad- 
ame Fauvel  went  sooner  than  usual  to  her  country-seat, 
and  Raoul  at  once  moved  into  his  house  at  Vesinet.  But 
living  in  the  country  did  not  lessen  his  expenses.  Grad- 
ually he  laid  aside  all  hypocrisyf  and  now  only  came  to 
see  his  mother  when  he  wanted  money;  and  his  demands 
were  frequent  and  more  exorbitant  each  time.  As  for  the 
marquis,  he  prudently  absented  himself,  awaiting  the  pro- 
pitious moment.  And  it  was  quite  by  chance  that  three 
weeks  later,  meeting  the  banker  at  a  friend's,  he  was  in- 
vited to  dinner  the  next  day. 

Twenty  people  were  seated  at  the  table  ;  and  as  the 
4^sert  was  being  served,  the  banker  suddenly  turned  t^ 


FILE  NO.  113.  249 

De  Clameran  and  said  :  "  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you, 
marquis.     Have  you  any  relatives  bearing  your  name  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

''  I  am  surprised.  About  a  week  ago,  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  another  Marquis  de  Clameran." 

Although  so  hardened  by  crime,  impudent  enough  to 
deny  anything,  De  Clameran  was  taken  aback  and  turned 
pale.  "  Oh,  indeed  !  That  is  strange.  A  De  Clameran 
may  exist ;  but  I  carmot  understand  the  title  of  marquis." 

M.  Fauvel  was  not  sorry  to  have  the  opportunity  of  an- 
noying a  guest  whose  aristocratic  pretensions  had  often 
piqued  him.  "  Marquis  or  not,"  he  replied,  "  the  De 
Clameran  in  question  seems  to  be  able  to  do  honor  to 
the  title." 

"  Is  he  rich  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  suppose  that  he  is  very  wealthy.  I 
have  been  authorized  to  collect  for  him  four  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

De  Clameran  had  a  wonderful  faculty  of  self-control ; 
he  had  so  schooled  himself  that  his  face  never  betrayed 
what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  But  this  news  was  so  start- 
ling, so  strange,  so  pregnant  of  danger,  that  his  usual  as- 
surance deserted  him.  He  detected  a  peculiar  look  of 
irony  in  the  banker's  eye.  The  only  persons  who  noticed 
this  sudden  change  in  the  marquis's  manner  were  Madeleine 
and  her  aunt.  They  saw  him  turn  pale,  and  exchange  a 
meaning  look  with  Raoul. 

*'  Then  I  suppose  this  new  marquis  is  a  merchant,"  said 
De  Clameran,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  You  ask  too  much.  All-  that  I  know  is,  that  four  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  are  to  be  deposited  to  his  account 
by  some  ship-owners  of  Havre,  after  the  sale  of  the  cargo 
of  a  Brazilian  ship." 

"  Then  he  comes  from  Brazil  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  can,  if  you  like,  give  you  his 
Christian  name." 

"I  would  be  obliged." 

M.  Fauvel  rose  from  the  table,  and  brought  from  the 
rext  room  a  memorandum-book,  and  began  to  read  over 
the  names  written  in  it. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said  :  "  let  me  see — the  22d,  no, 
it  was  later  than  that.  Ah,  here  it  is  :  De  Clameran,  Gas- 
ton.    His  name  is  Gaston," 


250  FILE  NO   113. 

But  this  time  Louis  betrayed  no  emotion  or  alarm  ;  he 
had  had  sufficient  time  to  recover  his  self-possession,  and 
nothing  could  now  throw  him  off  his  guard.  "  Gaston  ?  " 
he  queried  carelessly.  "  I  know  who  he  is  now.  He 
must  be  the  son  of  my  father's  sister,  whose  husband  lived 
at  Havana.  I  suppose,  upon  his  return  to  France,  he 
must  have  taken  his  mother's  name,  which  is  more  sonor 
ous  than  his  father's,  that  being,  if  I  recollect  aright, 
Moirot  or  Boirot." 

The  banker  laid  down  his  memorandum -book,  and,  re- 
suming his  seat,  said :  "  Boirot  or  De  Clameran,  I  hope  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  inviting  you  to  dine  with  him  before 
long.  Of  the  four  hundred  thousand  francs  which  I  was 
ordered  to  collect  for  him,  he  only  wishes  to  draw  one 
hundred,  and  tells  me  to  keep  the  rest  on  current  account. 
I  judge  from  this,  that  he  intends  coming  to  Paris." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  make  his  acquaintance." 

De  Clameran  broached  another  topic,  and  seemed  to 
have  entirely  forgotten  the  news  told  him  by  the  banker. 
Although  apparently  engrossed  in  the  conversation  at  the 
table,  he  closely  watched  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece. 
He  saw  that  they  were  unable  to  conceal  their  agitation, 
and  stealthily  exchanged  significant  looks.  Evidently  the 
same  terrible  idea  had  crossed  their  minds.  Madeline 
seemed  more  nervous  and  startled  than  her  aunt.  When 
M.  Fauvel  uttered  Gaston's  name,  she  saw  Raoul  begin 
to  draw  back  his  chair  and  glance  in  a  frightened  manner 
towards  the  window,  like  a  detected  thief  looking  for  means 
of  escape.  Raoul,  less  experienced  than  his  uncle,  was 
thoroughly  discountenanced.  He,  the  original  talker,  the 
lion  of  a  dinner-party,  never  at  a  loss  for  some  witty  speech, 
was  now  perfectly  dumb  ;  he  sat  anxiously  watching  Louis. 
At  last  the  dinner  ended,  and  as  the  guests  passed  into  the 
drawing-rooms,  De  Clameran  and  Raoul  managed  to  re- 
main last  in  the  dining-room.  When  they  were  alone,  they 
no  longer  attempted  to  conceal  their  anxiety. 

"  It  is  he  !  "  said  Raoul. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  Then  all  is  lost ;  we  had  better  make  our  escape." 

But  a  bold  adventurer  like  De  Clameran  had  no  idea  of 
giving  up  the  ship  till  forced  to  do  so.  "  Who  knows 
what  may  happen  ?  "  he  asked  thoughtfully.  "  There  is 
hope  yet.    Why  did  not  that  mudd'e-hf^ded  banker  tell 


FILE  NO.  113.  251 

US  where  this  De  Clameran  is  to  be  found  ? "  Here  he 
uttered  a  joyful  exclamation.  He  saw  M.  Fauvel's  mem- 
orandum-book lying  on  the  side-board.  "  Watch  !  "  he 
said  to  Raoul. 

Seizing  the  note-book,  he  hurriedly  turned  over  the 
leaves,  and,  in  an  undertone,  read  ;  "  Gaston,  Marquis  de 
Clameran,  Oloron,  Lower  Pyrenees." 

"  Well,  does  finding  out  his  address  assist  us  ?  "  inquired 
Raoul  eagerly. 

"  It  may  save  us  :  that  is  all.  Let  us  return  to  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  our  absence  might  be  observed.  Exert  yourself 
to  appear  unconcerned  and  gay.  You  almost  betrayed  us 
once  by  your  agitation." 

"  The  two  women  suspect  something.'* 

"  Well,  suppose  they  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  safe  for  us  here." 

"  Were  you  any  better  in  London  ?  Don't  be  so  easily 
frightened.     I  am  going  to  plant  my  batteries." 

They  joined  the  other  guests.  But,  if  their  conversation 
had  not  been  overheard,  their  movements  had  been 
watched.  Madeleine  had  come  on  tip-toe,  and,  looking 
through  the  half-open  door,  had  seen  De  Clameran  con- 
sulting her  uncle's  note-book.  But  what  benefit  would  she 
derive  from  this  proof  of  the  marquis's  anxiety  ?  She  no 
longer  doubted  the  villany  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
promised  her  hand.  As  he  had  said  to  Raoul,  neither  Mad- 
eleine nor  her  aunt  could  escape  him.  Two  hours  later, 
De  Clameran  was  on  the  road  to  Vesinet  with  Raoul,  ex- 
plaining to  him  his  plans. 

"It  is  he,  and  no  mistake,"  he  said.  "But  we  are  too 
easily  alarmed,  my  fine  nephew." 

"  Nonsense  !  the  banker  is  expecting  him  ;  he  may  be 
among  us  to-morrow." 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot !  "  interrupted  De  Clameran.  "Does 
he  know  that  Fauvel  is  Valentine's  husband  ?  That  is 
what  we  must  find  out.  If  he  knows  that  little  fact,  we 
must  take  to  our  heels ;  if  he  is  ignorant  of  it,  our  case  is 
not  desperate." 

"  How  can  we  find  out  ?  " 

"  By  simply  going  and  asking  him." 

"  That  is  a  brilliant  idea,"  said  Raoul,  admiringly  ;  "  but 
dangerous." 

"  It  is  not  as  dangerou3  as  not  doing  it.     And,  as  to  run- 


252  FILE  NO.  113. 

ning  away  at  the  first  suspicion  of  alarm,  it  would  be  down' 
right  imbecility." 

"And  who  will  go  and  see  him  ? " 

"  I  will !  " 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  exclaimed  Raoul  in  three  different  tones. 
De  Clameran's  audacity  confounded  him.  "  But  what  am 
I  to  do  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  You  will  oblige  me  by  remaining  here.  At  the  least 
sign  of  danger,  I  will  send  you  a  telegram,  and  then  you 
must  make  off." 

As  they  parted  at  Raoul's  door,  De  Clameran  said :  "  It 
is  then  understood  you  will  remain  here.  But  mind,  so  long 
as  my  absence  lasts,  become  once  more  the  best  of  sons. 
Set  yourself  against  me,  calumniate  me  if  you  can.  But 
no  nonsense.  No  demands  for  money.  So  now,  good-by ! 
To-morrow  night  I  shall  be  at  Oloron  and  shall  have  seen 
this  De  Clameran." 


XVIII. 

After  leaving  Valentine  de  La  Verberie,  Gaston  under- 
went great  peril  and  difficulty  in  effecting  his  escape.  But 
for  the  experienced  and  faithful  Menoul,  he  never  would 
have  succeeded  in  embarking.  Having  left  his  mother's 
jewels  with  Valentine,  his  sole  fortune  consisted  of  not 
quite  a  thousand  francs ;  and  it  is  not  with  a  paltry  sum 
like  that  that  a  fugitive  who  has  just  killed  two  men  can 
pay  for  his  passage  on  board  a  ship.  But  Menoul  was  a 
man  of  experience.  While  Gaston  remained  concealed  in 
a  farm  house  at  Camargue,  Menoul  went  to  Marseilles, 
and  the  same  evening  learnt  that  a  three-masted  American 
vessel  was  in  the  roadstead,  whose  commander.  Captain 
Warth,  a  not  over-scrupulous  person,  would  be  glad  to  wel- 
come on  board  an  able-bodied  man  who  would  be  of  assist- 
ance to  him  at  sea,  and  would  not  trouble  himself  about 
his  antecedents  After  visiting  the  vessel  and  taking  a 
glass  of  rum  with  the  captain,  old  Menoul  returned  to 
Gaston. 

"  If  it  was  a  question  of  myself,  sir,"  he  saidy  "  I  should 
avail  myself  of  the  opportunity,  but  you — " 

"  What  suits  you,  suits  me,"  interrupted  Gaston, 

"  You  see,  the  fact  is,  you  will  be  obliged  to  work  very 


FILE  NO.  113.  253 

hard.  You  will  only  be  a  common  sailor,  you  know  !  And 
I  must  confess  that  the  ship's  company  is  not  the  most 
moral  one  I  ever  saw.  The  captain,  too,  seems  a  regular 
swaggering  bully." 

"I  have  no  choice,"  said  Gaston.  "I  will  go  on  board 
at  once." 

Old  Menoul's  suspicions  were  correct.  Before  Gaston 
had  been  on  board  the  "  Tom  Jones  "  forty-eight  hours, 
he  saw  that  chance  had  cast  him  among  a  collection  of  the 
most  depraved  bandits  and  cut-throats.  The  crew,  recruit- 
ed seemingly  anywhere,  contained  specimens  of  the  ras- 
cals of  almost  every  country.  But  Gaston's  mind  was  un- 
disturbed as  to  the  character  of  the  people  with  whom  his 
lot  was  cast  for  several  months.  It  was  only  his  body  that 
the  vessel  was  carrying  to  another  land.  His  heart  and 
soul  rested  in  the  shady  park  of  La  Verberie,  beside  his 
beloved  Valentine.  And  what  would  become  of  her  now, 
poorchild,  when  he  was  no  longer  there  to  love,  console, 
and  defend  her  ?  Happily,  he  had  no  time  for  sad  reflec- 
tions. His  every  moment  was  occupied  in  learning  the 
rough  apprenticeship  of  a  sailor's  life.  All  his  energies 
were  spent  in  bearing  up  under  the  heavy  burden  of  labor 
allotted  to  him.  This  was  his  salvation.  Physical  suf- 
fering calmed  and  deadened  his  mental  agony.  The  few 
hours  relaxation  granted  him  were  spent  in  sleep.  At  rare 
intervals,  when  the  weather  was  calm,  and  he  was  relieved 
from  his  constant  occupation  of  trimming  the  sails,  he 
would  anxiously  question  the  future.  He  had  sworn  that 
he  would  return  before  the  end  of  three  years,  rich  enough 
to  satisfy  the  exactions  of  Madame  de  La  Verberie. 
Would  he  be  able  to  keep  this  boastful  promise  1  Though 
desire  has  wings,  reality  crawls  upon  the  ground.  Judging 
from  the  conversation  of  his  companions,  he  was  not  now 
on  the  road  to  the  fortune  he  so  much  desired.  The  "  Tom 
Jones  "  was  sailing  for  Valparaiso,  but  certainly  went  in  a 
roundabout  way  to  reach  her  destination.  The  real  fact 
was,  that  Captain  Warth  proposed  visiting  the  Gulf  of 
Guinea.  A  friend  of  his,  a  black  prince,  he  said,  with  a 
loud  laugh,  was  waiting  for  him  at  Badagri,  to  exchange  a 
cargo  of  "  ebony  "  for  some  pipes  of  rum,  and  a  hundred 
flint-lock  muskets  which  were  on  board.  Gaston  soon  saw 
that  he  was  serving  his  apprenticeship  on  one  of  the  numei' 
Qu$  slavers  equipped  yearly  by  the  free  and  philanthropic 


254  P^LE  NO.  113. 

Americans.  Although  this  discovery  filled  Gaston  with 
indignation  and  shame,  he  was  prudent  enough  to  conceal 
his  impressions.  His  remonstrances,  no  matter  how  elo- 
quent, would  have  made  no  change  in  Captain  Warth's 
opinions  regarding  a  traffic  which  brought  him  in  more 
than  cent,  per  cent.,  in  spite  of  the  French  and  English 
cruisers,  the  damages,  sometimes  entire  loss  of  cargoes, 
and  many  other  risks.  The  crew  had  a  certain  respect  for 
Gaston  when  the  story  of  his  having  killed  two  men,  as 
related  by  Menoul  to  the  captain,  transpired.  To  have 
given  vent  to  his  feehngs  would  have  incurred  the  enmity 
of  the  whole  of  his  shipmates,  without  bettering  his  own 
situation.  He  therefore  kept  quiet,  but  swore  mentally, 
that  he  would  desert  on  the  first  opportunity.  This  oppor- 
tunity, like  everything  impatiently  longed  for,  came  not. 
By  the  end  of  three  months  Captain  Warth  found  Gaston 
indispensable.  Seeing  him  so  intelligent  he  took  a  fancy 
to  him,  he  liked  to  have  him  at  his  own  table,  he  listened 
to  his  conversation  with  pleasure,  and  was  glad  of  his  com- 
pany in  a  game  of  cards.  The  mate  of  the  ship  dying, 
Gaston  was  chosen  to  replace  him.  In  this  capacity  he 
made  two  successive  voyages  to  Guinea,  bringing  back  a 
thousand  blacks,  whom  he  superintended  during  a  trip  of 
fifteen  hundred  leagues,  and  finally  landed  clandestinely 
on  the  coast  of  Brazil.  When  Gaston  had  been  about  three 
years  on  board,  the  "  Tom  Jones  "  put  into  Rio  Janeiro. 
He  now  had  an  opportunity  of  leaving  the  captain,  who 
was  after  all  a  worthy  man,  and  never  would  have  engaged 
in  the  diabolical  traffic  of  human  beings,  but  for  his  little 
daughter's  sake,  his  little  Mary,  an  angel,  whose  dowry  he 
wished  to  make  a  magnificent  one.  Gaston  had  saved 
twelve  thousand  francs  out  of  his  share  of  the  profits,  when 
he  landed  in  Brazil.  As  a  proof  that  the  slave  trade  was 
repugnant  to  his  nature  he  left  the  slaver  the  moment  he 
possessed  a  little  capital  with  which  to  enter  some  honest 
business.  But  he  was  no  longer  the  high-minded,  pure- 
hearted  Gaston,  who  had  been  so  beloved  by  the  little  fairy 
of  La  Verberie.  It  is  useless  to  deny  that  evil  examples 
are  pernicious  to  morals.  The  most  upright  characters  are 
unconsciously  influenced  by  bad  surroundings.  As  the  ex- 
posure to  rain,  sun,  and  sea-air  first  darkened  and  then 
hardened  his  skin,  so  did  wicked  associates  first  shock  and 
then  destroy  the  refinement  and  purity  of  Gaston's  rnind, 


FILE  NO.  113.  255 

His  heart  had  become  as  hard  and  coarse  as  his  sailor 
hands.  He  still  remembered  Valentine,  and  sighed  for 
her  presence ;  but  though  she  was  still  the  most  beloved, 
she  was  no  longer  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to  him. 
However,  the  three  years,  after  which  he  had  pledged  him- 
self to  return,  had  passed ;  perhaps  Valentine  was  expect- 
ing him.  Before  deciding  on  any  definite  project,  he  wrote 
to  an  intimate  friend  at  Beaucaire  to  learn  what  hadhap- 
pened  during  his  long  absence.  He  also  wrote  to  his  father, 
to  whom  he  had  already  sent  several  letters,  whenever  he 
had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  he  re 
ceived  his  friend's  reply.  It  told  him  that  his  father  was 
dead,  that  his  brother  had  left  France,  that  Valentine  was 
married,  and,  finally,  that  he,  Gaston,  had  been  sentenced 
to  several  years'  imprisonment  for  manslaughter.  Hence- 
forth he  was  alone  in  the  world,  with  no  country,  disgraced 
by  a  public  sentence.  Valentine  was  married,  and  he  had 
no  further  object  in  life  !  He  would  hereafter  have  faith 
in  no  one,  since  she,  Valentine,  had  cast  him  off  and  for- 
gotten him,  had  lacked  the  courage  to  keep  her  promise 
and  wait  for  him.  In  his  despair,  he  almost  regretted  the 
"  Tom  Jones."  Yes,  he  sighed  for  the  wicked  slaver  crew, 
his  life  of  excitement  and  peril,  the  dangers  and  triumphs 
of  those  bold  corsairs  who  die  on  sacks  of  dollars  or  strung 
up  to  the  yard-arm. 

But  Gaston  was  not  a  man  to  be  long  cast  down.  "  I 
will  earn  money,  then,"  he  cried  with  rage,  "  since  money  is 
the  only  thing  in  this  world  which  never  deceives  !  "  And 
he  set  to  work  with  a  greedy  activity,  which  increased 
every  day.  He  tried  all  the  many  speculations  open  to 
adventurers.  Alternately  he  traded  in  furs,  worked  a  mine, 
and  cultivated  lands.  Five  times  he  went  to  bed  rich, 
and  waked  up  ruined  ;  five  times,  with  the  patience  of  the 
beaver,  whose  hut  is  swept  away  by  the  current,  he  recom- 
menced the  building  of  his  fortune.  Finally,  after  long, 
weary  years  of  toil  and  struggle,  he  was  worth  about  a 
million  in  gold,  besides  immense  facts  of  land.  He  had 
often  said  that  he  would  never  leave  Brazil,  that  he  wanted 
to  end  his  days  in  Rio.  He  had  forgotten  that  love  for 
his  native  land  never  dies  in  a  Frenchman  s  breast.  Now 
that  he  was  rich,  he  wished  to  die  in  France.  He 
made  inquiries,  and  found  that  the  law  of  limitations 
would  permit  him  to  return  without  b«:og  disturbed  by 


356  FILE  NO.  113. 

the  authorities.  He  realized  what  he  could  of  his  property, 
and,  leaving  the  rest  in  charge  of  an  agent,  he  embarked 
for  France.  Twenty-three  years  and  four  months  had 
elapsed  since  he  fled  from  home,  when,  on  a  bright  day  in 
January,  1866,  he  stood  upon  the  quays  at  Bordeaux.  He 
had  departed  a  young  man,  with  his  heart  brimful  of  hope  ; 
*he  returned  gray-haired,  and  believing  in  nothing.  His 
health,  too,  on  his  arrival,  began  to  suffer  from  the  sudden 
change  of  climate.  Rheumatism  confined  him  to  his  bed 
for  several  months.  As  soon  as  he  could  sit  up,  the  phy- 
sicians sent  him  to  some  baths,  where  they  said  he  would 
regain  his  health.  When  cured,  he  felt  that  inactivity 
would  kill  him.  Charmed  with  the  beauty  of  the  Pyrenees, 
and  the  lovely  valley  of  Aspe,  he  resolved  to  take  up  his 
abode  there.  An  iron-foundry  was  for  sale  near  Oloron, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Gave  ;  he  bought  it  with  the  intention 
of  utilizing  the  immense  quantity  of  wood,  which  for  want 
of  means  of  transport  was  wasting  in  the  mountains. 

He  had  been  settled  some  weeks  in  his  new  home,  when 
one  evening  his  servant  brought  him  the  card  of  a  stranger 
who  desired  to  see  him.  He  read  the  name  on  the  card  : 
Louis  de  Clamerait.  Many  years  had  passed  since  Gaston 
had  experienced  such  violent  agitation.  His  blood  rushed  to 
his  head,  and  he  trembled  like  a  leaf.  The  old  home  affec- 
tions which  he  thought  dead  now  sprung  up  anew  in  his 
heart.  A  thousand  confused  memories  rushed  through  his 
mind.  Words  rose  to  his  lips,  but  he  was  unable  to  utter 
them.  "  My  brother !  "  he  at  length  gasped,  "  my  brother !  " 
Hurriedly  passing  by  the  frightened  servant,  he  ran  down 
stairs.  In  the  hall  a  man,  Louis  de  Clameran,  stood  wait- 
ing. Gaston  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck  and  held  him 
in  a  close  embrace  for  some  minutes,  and  then  drew  him 
into  a  room.  Seated  close  beside  Louis,  and  tightly  clasp- 
ing his  two  hands,  Gaston  gazed  on  his  face  as  a  fond 
mother  would  gaze  at  her  son  just  returned  from  the  bat- 
tle-field. 

"  And  is  this  really  Louis  ?  "  he  cried.  "  My  dearly 
loved  brother  ?  Why,  I  should  have  recognized  you  among 
a  thousand  ;  the  expression  of  your  face  has  not  in  the 
least  changed,  your  smile  is  the  same  as  it  used  to  be.'" 

Louis  did  indeed  smile,  just  as  he  perhaps  smiled  on  that 
fatal  night  when  his  horse  stumbled,  and  prevented  Gas- 
ton's escape.   He  smiled  now  as  if  he  was  perfectly  happy  j 


FILE  NO.  113.  257 

he  seemed  overjoyed.  He  had  exerted  all  the  courage  he 
possessed  to  venture  upon  this  meeting.  Nothing  but  the 
most  terrible  necessity  would  have  induced  him  to  present 
himself  thus.  His  teeth  chattered  and  he  trembled  in 
every  limb  when  he  rang  Gaston's  bell,  and  handed  the 
servant  his  card,  saying,  "  Take  this  to  your  master." 
The  few  moments  that  elapsed  before  Gaston's  appear- 
ance seemed  to  him  centuries.  He  said  to  himself,  "  Per- 
haps it  is  not  he.  And  if  it  is,  does  he  know  t  Does  he 
suspect  anything  ?  "  He  was  so  anxious  that,  when  he  saw 
Gaston  rushing  down  stairs,  he  felt  like  ficeing  from  the 
house.  Not  knowing  the  nature  of  Gaston's  feelings  tow- 
ards him,  he  stood  perfectly  motionless.  But  one  glance 
at  his  brother's  face  convinced  him  that  he  was  the  same 
affectionate,  credulous,  trusting  Gaston  of  old  ;  and,  now 
that  he  was  almost  certain  that  his  brother  harbored  no 
suspicions,  he  recovered  himself  and  smiled. 

"  After  all,"  continued  Gaston,  "  I  am  not  alone  in  the 
world  ;  I  shall  have  some  one  to  love,  some  one  to  care  for 
me."  Then,  as  if  suddenly  struck  by  a  thought,  he 
asked,  "  Are  you  married,  Louis  ?  " 

"No." 

"  That  is  a  pity,  a  great  pity.  It  would  so  have  added  te 
my  happiness  to  see  you  the  husband  of  a  good,  affection- 
ate woman,  the  father  of  bright,  lovely  children  !  It  would 
have  been  a  comfort  to  have  a  happy  family  about  me. 
I  should  have  looked  upon  them  all  as  my  own.  To  live 
alone,  without  a  loving  wife  to  share  one's  joys  and  sor- 
rows, is  not  living  at  all.  Oh,  the  sadness  of  having  only 
one's  self  to  care  for  !  But  what  am  I  saying  ?  I  have 
you,  Louis,  and  is  not  that  enough  ?  I  have  a  brother,  a 
friend  with  whom  I  can  talk  aloud,  as  I  have  for  so  long 
talked  to  myself." 

"  Yes,  Gaston,  yes,  a  good  friend  !  " 

"  Of  course  !  for  are  you  not  my  brother  ?  So  you  are  not 
married  !  Then  we  will  keep  house  together.  We  will 
live  like  two  old  bachelors,  as  we  are,  and  be  as  happy  as 
kings;  we  will  amuse  each  other,  we  will  thoroughly  enjoy 
ourselves.  What  a  capital  idea !  You  make  me  feel  young 
again,  barely  twenty.  I  feel  as  active  and  strong  as  I  did 
the  night  I  swam  across  the  swollen  Rhone.  And  that 
was  long,  long  ago;  and  since,  I  have  struggled,  I  have 
suffered,  I  have  cruelly  aged  and  changed." 
17 


258  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  You  I  "  interrupted  Louis  ;  "  why,  you  have  not  aged 
as  much  as  I  have." 

"  You  are  jesting." 

"  I  assure  you." 

"  Would  you  have  recognized  me  ?" 

"  Instantly.     You  are  very  little  changed." 

And  Louis  was  right.  He  himself  had  a  worn-out,  used- 
up  appearance  rather  than  an  aged  one  ;  while  Gaston,  in 
spite  of  his  gray  hair  and  weather-beaten  face,  was  a  ro- 
bust man,  in  his  prime.  It  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  Louis's 
restless  eyes  and  crafty  smiles  to  Gaston's  frank,  honest 
face. 

"  But,"  said  Gaston,  "  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  liv- 
ing?    What  kind  fairy  guided  you  to  my  house  .''  " 

Louis  was  prepared  for  this  question.  During  his  eight- 
een hours'  ride  in  the  train  he  had  had  time  to  arrange 
all  his  answers.  "  We  must  thank  Providence  for  this 
happy  meeting,"  he  replied.  "  Three  days  ago,  a  friend 
of  mine  returned  from  some  baths,  and  mentioned  that  he 
had  heard  that  a  Marquis  de  Clameran  was  near  there,  in 
the  Pyrenees  You  can  imagine  my  surprise.  I  instantly 
supposed  that  some  impostor  had  assumed  our  name.  I 
took  the  next  train,  and  finally  found  my  way  here." 

"  Then  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  My  dear  brother,  how  could  I  hope  for  that  ?  I  thought 
that  you  were  drowned  twenty-three  years  ago." 

"  Drowned  !  Mademoiselle  de  La  Verberie  certainly  told 
you  of  my  escape.  She  promised  that  she  would  go  her- 
self, the  next  day,  and  tell  my  father  of  my  safety." 

Louis  assumed  a  distressed  look,  as  if  he  hesitated  to 
tell  the  sad  truth,  and  murmured  in  a  regretful  tone  : 
"  Alas  !  she  never  told  us." 

Gaston's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  He  thought 
that  perhaps  Valentine  had  been  glad  to  get  rid  of  him. 
"  She  did  not  tell  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Did  she  have 
the  cruelty  to  let  you  mourn  my  death  ?  to  let  my  old 
father  die  of  a  broken  heart  ?  Ah  !  she  must  have  been 
very  fearful  of  the  world's  ©pinion.  She  sacrificed  me, 
then,  for  the  sake  of  her  reputation." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  write  to  us  ? "  asked  Louis. 

"  I  did  write  as  soon  as  I  had  an  opportunity ;  and  La- 
fourcade  wrote  back,  saying  that  my  father  was  dead,  and 
that  you  had  left  the  neighborhood." 


FILE  NO.  113.  259 

"  I  left  Clameran  because  I  believed  you  to  be  dead." 

Gaston  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  as  if  to 
shake  off  a  feeling  of  sadness ;  then  he  said  cheerfully  : 
"  Well,  it's  of  no  use  mourning  over  the  past.  All  the 
memories  in  the  world,  good  or  bad,  are  not  worth  one 
slender  hope  for  the  future ;  and  thank  heaven^  we  have 
a  bright  future  before  us." 

Louis  was  silent.  His  footing  was  not  sure  enough  to 
risk  any  questions. 

"  But  here  I  have  been  talking  incessantly  for  an  hour," 
said  Gaston,  "and  I  dare  say  that  you  have  not  dined." 

"  No,  I  have  not,  I  own." 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  so  before  ?  I  forgot  that  I  had 
not  dined  myself.  I  will  not  let  you  starve,  the  first  day  of 
your  arrival.     Ah  !  I  have  some  splendid  old  Cape  wine." 

He  pulled  the  bell,  and  ordered  the  servant  to  hasten 
dinner ;  and  within  half-an-hour  the  two  brothers  were 
seated  at  a  sumptuous  repast.  Gaston  kept  up  an  unin- 
terrupted  stream  of  questions.  He  wished  to  know  all, 
that  had  happened  during  his  absence. 

"What  about  Clameran  ?  "  he  abruptly  asked. 

Louis  hesitated  a  moment.  Should  he  tell  the  truth^  or 
not  ?     "I  have  sold  Clameran,"  he  finally  said. 

"  The  chateau  too  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"You  acted  as  you  thought  best,"  said  Gaston,  sadly; 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I 
should  have  kept  the  old  homestead.  Our  ancestors  lived 
there  for  many  generations,  and  our  father  died  there." 
Then  seeing  Louis  appeared  sad  and  distressed,  he  quickly 
added  :  "  However,  it  is  just  as  well ;  it  is  in  the  heart 
that  memory  dwells,  and  not  in  a  pile  of  old  stones.  I  my- 
self had  not  the  courage  to  return  to  Provence.  I  could 
not  trust  myself  to  go  to  Clameran,  where  I  would  have 
to  gaze  on  the  park  of  La  Verberie.  Alas,  the  only  happy 
moments  of  my  life  were  spent  there  ! " 

Louis's  countenance  immediately  cleared.  The  cer- 
tainty that  Gaston  had  not  been  to  Provence  relieved  his 
mind  of  an  immense  weight.  The  next  day  he  telegraphed 
to  Raoul ;  "  Wisdom  and  prudence.  Follow  my  directions. 
All  goes  well.     Be  sanguine." 

All  was  going  well ;  and  yet  Louis,  in  spite  of  his  skil- 
fully plied  questions,  had  obtained    none  of  the   informa' 


260  FILE  NO.  113. 

tion  which  he  had  come  to  seek.  Gaston  was  communica' 
tive  on  every  subject  except  the  one  in  which  Louis  was 
most  interested.  Was  this  silence  premeditated,  or  sim- 
ply unconscious  ?  Louis,  like  all  villains,  was  ever  ready 
to  attribute  to  others  the  bad  motives  by  which  he  himself 
would  be  influenced.  Anything  was  better  than  this  un- 
certainty ;  he  determined  to  ask  his  brother  what  he  in- 
tended doing.  They  had  just  sat  down  to  lunch,  and  he 
thought  the  moment  an  opportune  one. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Gaston,"  he  began  by  saying ; 
"that  thus  far  we  have  spoken  of  everything  except  serious 
matters  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  solemn,  Louis  !  What  are  the 
grave  subjects  you  allude  to  ? " 

"  Well,  there  is  this :  believing  you  to  be  dead,  I  in- 
herited all  our  father  left." 

"  Is  that  what  vou  call  a  serious  matter  ?  "  asked  Gas- 
ton  with  an  amused  smile. 

"  Certainly.  I  owe  you  an  account  of  your  share  ;  you 
have  a  right  to  half." 

"  I  have,"  interrupted  Gaston,  "  a  right  to  ask  you  never 
to  allude  to  the  subject  again.  What  you  have  is  yours  by 
limitation." 

"  No,  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"  But  you  must.  Our  father  wished  to  have  only  one 
of  us  to  inherit  his  property ;  we  will  be  carrying  out  his 
wishes  by  not  dividing  it."  Seeing  that  Louis's  face  still 
remained  clouded,  Gaston  added  :  "  Come  now,  you  must 
be  very  rich,  or  think  me  very  poor,  to  insist  thus." 

Louis  started  at  this  remark.  What  could  he  say  so  as 
not  to  commit  himself  ? 

"  I  am  neither  rich  nor  poor,"  he  finally  observed. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  exclaimed  his  brother. 
"  I  wish  you  were  as  poor  as  Job,  so  that  I  might  share 
what  I  have  with  you." 

Luncheon  over,  Gaston  rose  and  said  :  "  Come,  I  want 
to  show  you  my — that  is,  our  property." 

Louis  uneasily  followed.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Gaston 
obstinately  shunned  anything  like  an  explanation.  Could 
all  this  brotherly  affection  be  assumed  to  blind  him  as  to 
his  real  plans  ?  Louis's  fears  were  again  aroused,  and  he 
almost  regretted  his  hasty  telegram.  But  his  calm,  smil- 
ing face  betrayed  none  of  the  anxious  thoughts   which 


FILE  KO.  113.  261 

filled  his  mind.  He  was  called  upon  to  examine  every- 
thing.  First  he  was  taken  over  the  house  and  then  the 
servants'  quarters,  the  stables,  kennels,  and  the  vast, 
beautifully  laid-out  garden.  Across  a  pretty  meadow  was 
the  iron-foundry  in  full  operation.  Gaston,  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  new  proprietor,  explained  everything. 
down  to  the  smallest  file  and  hammer.  He  detailed  all 
his  projects  ;  how  he  intended  substituting  wood  for  coal, 
and  how,  besides  having  plenty  to  work  the  forge,  he 
could  make  immense  profits  by  felling  the  forest  trees, 
which  had  hitherto  been  considered  impracticable.  Louis 
approved  of  everything  ;  but  only  answered  in  monosylla- 
bles, "  Ah,  indeed  !  excellent  idea  !  quite  a  success  !  " 
His  mind  was  tortured  by  a  new  pain  ;  he  was  paying  no 
attention  to  Gaston's  remarks,  but  enviously  comparing 
all  this  wealth  and  prosperity  with  his  own  poverty.  He 
found  Gaston  rich,  respected,  and  happy,  enjoying  the 
price  of  his  own  industry  ;  whilst  he —  Never  had  he  so 
cruelly  felt  the  misery  of  his  condition,  which  was  of  his 
own  making.  After  a  lapse  of  twenty-three  years,  all  the 
envy  and  hate  he  had  felt  towards  Gaston,  when  they 
were  boys  together,  revived. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  purchase  ?  "  asked  Gaston, 
when  the  inspection  was  over. 

"  I  think  you  possess,  my  dear  brother,  a  most  charm- 
ing property,  situated  in  the  loveliest  spot  in  the  world. 
It  is  enough  to  excite  the  envy  of  any  poor  Parisian." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  .''  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Louis,"  said  Gaston  joyfully,  "  this 
property  is  yours,  as  well  as  mine.  You  like  it,  then  live 
here  always.  Do  you  really  care  for  your  foggy  Paris  ? 
Do  you  not  prefer  this  beautiful  Be'ara  sky  ?  The  scanty 
and  paltry  luxury  of  Paris  is  not  equnl  to  the  good  and 
plentiful  living  you  will  find  here.  You  are  a  bachelor, 
therefore  you  have  no  ties.  Remain,  we  shall  want  for 
nothing.  And,  to  employ  our  time,  there  is  the  foundry. 
Does  my  plan  suit  you  ?  " 

Louis  was  silent.  A  year  ago,  this  proposal  would  have 
been  eagerly  welcomed.  How  gladly  he  would  have  seized 
this  offer  of  a  comfortable,  luxurious  home,  after  having 
been  buffeted  about  the  world  so  long !  How  delightful 
it  would  have  been  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  become 


262  FILE  NO.  113. 

an  honest  man  !  But  he  saw,  with  disappointment  and 
rage,  that  he  would  now  be  compelled  to  decline  it.  No, 
he  was  no  longer  free.  He  could  not  leave  Paris.  He 
had  become  entangled  in  one  of  those  hazardous  plots 
which  are  lost  if  neglected,  and  the  loss  of  which  generally 
leads  the  projector  into  penal  servitude.  Alone,  he  could 
easily  remain  where  he  was ;  but  he  was  trammelled  with 
an  accomplice. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,"  said  Gaston,  with  surprise  ; 
-^*  are  there  any  obstacles  to  my  plans  ?  " 

"  None." 

'*  What  is  the  matter,  then  ?  " 

*  The  matter  is,  my  dear  brother,  that  the  salary  of  an 
appointment  which  I  hold  in  Paris  is  all  that  I  have  to 
support  me." 

"  Is  that  your  only  objection  ?  Yet,  you  just  now 
wanted  to  pay  me  back  half  of  the  family  inheritance  ! 
Louis,  that  is  unkind ;  you  are  not  acting  as  a  brother 
should." 

Louis  hung  his  head.  Gaston  was  unconsciously  tell- 
ing the  truth.     "  I  should  be  a  burden  to  you,  Gaston." 

"  A  burden  !  Why  Louis,  you  must  be  mad  !  Did  I  not 
tell  you  I  was  very  rich .''  Do  you  suppose  that  you  have 
seen  all  I  possess  ?  This  house  and  the  iron-works  do 
not  constitute  a  fourth  of  my  fortune.  Do  you  think  that 
I  would  have  risked  my  twenty  years'  savings  in  an  ex- 
periment of  this  sort?  I  have  invested,  in  state  securities, 
an  income  of  twenty-four  thousand  francs.  And  that  is 
not  all ;  it  seemi  that  I  shall  be  able  to  sell  my  grants  in 
Brazil ;  I  am  lucky  !  My  agent  has  already  forwarded 
me  four  hundred  thousand  francs." 

Louis  trembled  with  pleasure.  He  was,  at  last,  to 
know  the  extent  of  the  danger  menacing  him.  *'  What 
agent  ?  "  he  asked,  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  Why,  my  old  partner  at  Rio,  of  course.  The  money 
is  now  at  my  Paris  banker's,  quite  at  my  disposal." 

"  Some  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Well,  no.  He  was  recommended  to  me  by  my  banker 
at  Pau,  as  a  very  rich,  prudent,  and  reliable  man.  His 
name  is — let  me  see — Andr^  Fauvel,  and  he  lives  in  the 
Rue  de  Provence." 

Master  of  himself  as  he  was,  and  prepared  for  what  he 
was  about  to  hear,  Louis  turned  pale  and  red  by  turns. 


FILE  NO.  113.  263 

"  Do  you  know  this  banker  ?  "  asked  Gaston,  who,  full 
of  his  own  thoughts,  did  not  notice  his  brother's  condi- 
tion. 

"  Only  by  reputation." 

"Then,  we  can  shortly  make  his  acquaintance  together; 
for  I  think  of  accompanying  you  to  Paris,  when  you  return 
there  to  wind  up  your  affairs,  before  establishing  yourself 
here." 

At  this  unexpected  announcement  of  a  step  which  would 
prove  his  utter  ruin,  Louis  managed  to  maintain  his  self-  > 
possession.     It  seemed  to  him  that  his  brother  was  look- 
ing him  through  and  through.     "  You  are  going  to  Paris  t  " 
he  uttered. 

"  Certainly  I  am.     What  is  there  extraordinary  in  that .''  " 

"Oh!  nothing." 

"  I  hate  Paris,  although  I  have  never  been  there  ;  but 
I  am  called  there  by  interest,  by  sacred  duties,"  he  hesi- 
tatingly said.  "  The  truth  is,  I  understand  that  Made- 
moiselle de  La  Verberie  lives  in  Paris,  and  I  wish  to  see 
her  again." 

"Ah!" 

Gaston  was  silent  and  thoughful  for  some  moments, 
and  then  resumed,  nervously,  "  I  can  tell  you,  Louis,  why 
I  wish  to  see  her.  When  I  went  away,  I  left  our  mother's 
jewels  in  her  keeping." 

"  And  you  intend,  after  a  lapse  of  twenty-three  years,  to 
claim  these  jewels  ?" 

"  Yes — or  rather  no  ;  that  is  only  a  vain  excuse  for  see- 
ing her,  with  which  I  try  to  satisfy  myself.  I  must  see 
her,  because — because — I  loved  her  ;  that  is  the  truth." 

"  But  how  will  you  find  her  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  that  is  easy  enough.  _  Any  one  almost  can  tell 
me  her  husband's  name,  and  then  I  will  go  to  see  her.  I 
will  write  to-morrow,  to  Beaucaire,  for  the  information." 

Louis  made  no  reply.  Men  of  his  character,  when 
brought  face  to  face  with  imminent  danger,  always  weigh 
their  words,  and  say  as  little  as  possible,  for  fear  of  com- 
mitting themselves  by  some  indiscreet  remark.  Above  all 
things,  Louis  was  careful  to  avoid  raising  any  objections 
to  his  brother's  proposed  trip  to  Paris.  To  oppose  a  man's 
wishes  has  generally  the  effect  of  fixing  them  more  firmly 
in  his  mind.  Each  argument  is  like  striking  a  nail  with  a 
hammer.     Knowing  this,  Louis  changed  the  conversatior^ 


264  I'^ILE  NO.  113. 

and  nothing  more  during  the  day  was  said  of  Valentine  01 
Paris.  At  night,  alone  in  his  room,  he  brought  his  cunning 
mind  to  bear  upon  the  difficulties  of  his  situation,  and 
wondered  by  what  means  he  could  extricate  himself.  At 
first  sight,  it  seemed  hopeless.  During  the  twenty  years 
Louis  had  been  at  war  with  society,  trusted  by  none,  living 
upon  his  wits  and  the  credulity  of  foolish  men,  he  had, 
many  a  time,  found  himself  in  a  desperate  position.  He 
had  been  caught  at  the  gaming-table  with  his  hands  full  of 
marked  cards  ;  he  had  been  tracked  all  over  Europe  by 
the  police,  and  obliged  to  fly  from  city  to  city  under  an 
assumed  name  ;  he  had  sold  to  cowards  his  skilful  hand 
ling  of  the  sword  and  pistol ;  he  had  been  thrown  into  a 
prison,  and  had  miraculously  made  his  escape.  He  had 
braved  everything,  and  feared  nothing.  He  had  often 
conceived  and  carried  out  the  most  criminal  plans,  without 
the  slightest  hesitation  or  remorse.  And  now,  here  he  sat, 
utterly  bewildered — unable  to  think  clearly ,  his  usual  im- 
pudence and  ready  cunning  seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 
Thus  driven  into  a  corner,  he  saw  no  means  of  escape,  and 
was  almost  tempted  to  give  in,  and  retire  from  the  struggle. 
He  asked  himself  if  it  would  not  be  wiser  to  borrow  a 
large  sum  from  Gaston,  and  fly  the  country.  Vainly  did 
he  think  over  the  wicked  experience  of  the  past ;  none  of 
his  former  successful  stratagems  could  be  resorted  to  in 
the  present  case.  Fatally,  inevitably,  he  was  about  to  be 
caught  in  a  trap  laid  by  himself.  The  future  was  fraught 
with  ruin  and  disgrace.  He  had  to  fear  the  wrath  of  M. 
Fauvel,  his  wife,  and  niece.  Gaston  would  have  speedy 
vengeance  the  moment  he  discovered  the  truth ;  and 
Raoul,  his  accomplice,  would  certainly  turn  against  him 
in  the  hour  of  misfortune,  and  become  his  most  implacable 
enemy.  Was  there  no  possible  way  of  preventing  a  meet- 
ing between  Valentine  and  Gaston  ?  No,  none  that  he 
could  think  of.  And  their  meeting  would  be  his  destruc- 
tion. 

Lost  in  reflection,  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  flight  of 
time.  Daybreak  found  him  sitting  at  the  window,  expos- 
ing to  the  morning  breeze  his  burning  brow,  which  seemed 
on  the  point  of  bursting.  "  It  is  useless  for  me  to  think," 
he  muttered.  "  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  gain 
time,  and  wait  for  an  opportunity."  The  fall  of  the  h^^  se 
at  Clameran  was,  no  doubt,  what  Louis  called  "  an  oppor« 


FILE  NO.  113.  265 

tunity."  He  closed  the  window,  threw  himself  upon  the 
bed,  and  so  accustomed  was  he  to  danger,  that  he  soon 
slept.  At  the  breakfast-table,  his  calm,  smiling  face  bore 
no  traces  of  a  wakeful,  anxious  night.  He  was  in  a  gayer, 
more  talkative,  and  affectionate  mood  than  sual,  and  said 
he  would  like  to  ride  about  the  country.  Before  leaving 
the  table,  he  had  planned  several  excursions  in  the  neigh' 
borhood.  The  truth  is,  he  hoped  to  keep  Gaston  so 
amused  and  occupied,  that  he  would  forget  all  about  going 
to  Paris  in  search  of  Valentine.  He  thought  that,  with 
time,  and  skilfully  put  objections,  he  could  dissuade  his 
brother  from  seeking  out  his  former  love.  He  relied  upon 
being  able  to  convince  him  that  this  absolutely  unneces- 
sary interview  would  be  painful  to  both,  embarrassing  10 
him,  and  dangerous  to  her.  As  to  the  jewels,  if  Gaston 
persisted  in  claiming  them,  Louis  could  safely  offer  to  go 
and  get  them  for  him,  as  he  well  knew  where  they  were. 
But  his  hopes  and  plans  were  soon  scattered  to  the  winds. 

"  You  know,"  said  Gaston,  one  morning,  "  I  have  writ- 
ten." 

Louis  knew  well  enough  to  what  he  alluded,  but  pretend- 
ed to  be  very  much  surprised,  and  said,  ''  Written  ?  To 
whom  ?     Where  ?     What  for  1 " 

"  To  Beaucaire,  to  ask  Lafourcade  the  name  of  Valen- 
tine's husband." 

"  You  are,  then,  still  thinking  of  her  ?  " 

"  Always." 

"  You  have  not  given  up  your  idea  of  going  to  see 
her  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Alas  !  brother,  you  forget  that  she  whom  you  once 
loved  ^s  now  the  wife  of  another,  and  possibly  the  mother 
of  a  family.  How  do  you  know  that  she  will  consent  to 
see  you  ?  Why  run  the  risk  of  destroying  her  domestic 
happiness,  and  planting  seeds  of  remorse  in  your  own 
bosom  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  am  a  fool,  but  my  folly  is  dear  to  me." 

The  quiet  determination  of  Gaston's  tone  convinced 
Louis  that  all  remonstrances  would  be  unavailing.  Yet,  he 
remained  the  same  in  his  manner  and  behavior,  appar- 
ently engrossed  in  pleasure  parties  ;  but,  in  reality,  his 
only  thought  was  of  the  letters  delivered  at  the  house. 
He  always  managed  to  be  near  the  door  when  the  post 


266  FILE  NO.  113. 

man  came.     When  he  and  Gaston  were  out  together  at 
the  time  of  the  postman's  visit,  he  would  hurry  into  the 
house  first,  so  as  to  look  over  the  letters  delivered  in  their 
absence.    His  watchfulness  was  at  last  rewarded.     The  fol- 
lowing Sunday,  among  the  letters  handed  to  him  by  the 
postman,  was    one    bearing   the  postmark  of    Beaucaire. 
He  quickly  slipped  it  into  his  pocket ;  and,  although  he  was 
on  the  point  of  mounting  his  horse  to  ride  with  Gaston,  h(s 
found  a  pretext  for  running  up  to  his  room,  so  as  to  gratify 
his  impatient  desire  to  read  the  letter.     He  tore  it  open,' 
and,  seeing  "  Lafourcade  "  signed  at  the  bottom  of  three 
closely  written  pages,  hastily  devoured  the  contents.    After 
reading  a  detailed   account  of  events  entirely  uninterest- 
ing to  him,  Louis  came  to  the   following  passage  relating 
to  Valentine  : — "  Mademoiselle  de  La  Verberie's  husband 
is  an  eminent  banker,  named  Andre  Fauvel.     I  have  not 
the  honor  of  his  acquaintance,  but  I  intend  going  to  see 
him  shortly.     I  am  anxious  to  submit  to  him  a  project  that 
I  have  conceived  for  the  benefit  of  this  part  of  the  country. 
If  he  approves  of  it,  I  shall  ask  him  to  invest  in  it,  as  his 
name  will  be  of  great  assistance  to  the  scheme.    I  suppose 
you  have  no  objections  to  my  mentioning  your  name  as  a 
reference."     Louis  trembled  like  a  man  who  had  just  had 
a  narrow  escape  from  death.     He  well  knew  that  he  would 
have  to  fly,  if  Gaston  received  this  letter.     But  though  the 
danger  was  warded  off  for  the  while,  it  might  return  and 
destroy  him  at  any  moment.     Gaston  would  wait  a  week 
or  so  for  an  answer,  then  he   would  write  again ;  Lafour- 
cade would  instantly  reply  to  express  surprise  that  his  first 
letter   had  not   been    received  ;  all    this   correspondence 
would  occupy,  at  the   most,  not  more  than    twelve    days. 
And  then,  Lafourcade's  visit  to  Paris  was  another  source 
of  danger,  for  the  instant  he  mentioned  the  name  of  De 
Clameran  to  the  banker,  everythmg  would  be  discovered. 

But  Gaston  was  getting  tired  of  waiting.  "Are  you 
coming  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  am  coming  now,"  replied  Louis. 

Hastily  thrusting  Lafourcade's  letter  into  a  secret  com- 
partment of  his  trunk,  Louis  ran  down  to  his  brother.  He 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  borrow  a  large  sum  from  Gaston, 
and  go  off  to  America ;  and  Raoul  might  get  out  of  the 
scrape  as  best  he  could.  The  only  thing  which  he  re- 
gretted was  the  sudden  failure  of  the  most  skilful  -^umbi 


FILE  NO.  113.  267 

nation  he  had  ever  conceived ;  but  he  was  not  a  man  to 
fight  against  destiny,  so  he  determined  to  make  the  best 
of  the  emergency,  and  hope  for  better  fortune  in  his  next 
scheme.  The  following  day,  about  dusk,  while  walking 
along  the  pretty  road  leading  from  the  foundry  to  Oloron, 
he  commenced  the  prologue  of  a  little  story,  which  was  to 
conclude  by  asking  Gaston  to  lend  him  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  As  they  went  slowly  along,  arm  in  arm,  about 
half  a  mile  from  the  foundry  they  met  a  young  laborer, 
who  bowed  as  he  passed  them.  Louis  started  back  so 
violently  that  his  brother  asked  him  in  surprise  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  Nothing,  except  I  struck  my  foot  against  a  stone,  and 
it  hurt  me." 

Gaston  might  have  known,  by  the  tremulous  tones  of 
Louis's  voice,  that  this  was  a  lie.  Louis  cle  Clameran  had 
reason  to  tremble,  for  in  the  workman  he  recognized  Raoul 
de  Lagors.  Instinctive  fear  paralyzed  and  overw'helmed 
him.  His  volubility  was  gone ;  and  he  silently  walked 
along  by  his  brother's  side,  like  an  automaton,  totally  in- 
capable of  thinking  or  acting  for  himself.  He  seemed  to 
listen — he  did  listen  ;  but  the  words  fell  upon  his  ear  un- 
meaningly ;  he  could  not  understand  what  Gaston  was  say- 
ing, and  mechanically  answered  "  yes  "  or  "  no,"  like  one 
in  a  dream.  Whilst  necessity — absolute  necessity — kept 
him  at  Gaston's  side,  his  thoughts  were  all  with  the  young 
man  who  had  just  passed  by.  What  had  brought  Raoul 
to  Oloron  ?  What  plot  was  he  hatching  ?  Why  was  he 
disguised  as  a  laborer  t  Why  had  he  not  answered  the 
many  letters  which  Louis  had  written  him  from  Oloron  1 
He  had  ascribed  this  silence  to  Raoul's  carelessness,  but 
now  he  saw  it  was  premeditated.  Something  disastrous 
must  have  happened  at  Paris  ;  and  Raoul,  afraid  to  com- 
mit himself  by  writing,  had  come  himself  to  bring  the  bad 
news.  Had  he  come  to  say  that  the  game  was  up,  and 
they  must  fly?  But,  after  all,  he  might  have  been  mis- 
taken. Perhaps  it  was  some  workman  bearing  a  strong 
resemblance  to  Raoul.  If  he  could  only  run  after  the 
stranger,  and  speak  to  him  !  His  anxiety  increased,  min- 
ute by  minute,  and  at  length  became  intolerable.  Fortu- 
nately, Gaston  was  rather  tired  that  evenmg,  and  returned 
home  much  earlier  than  usual.  He  went  to  his  own  room 
at  once.     At  last,  Loijis  wa§  free  !     He  lit  a  cigar,  and^ 


«6S  ,  FILE  NO.  113. 

telling  the  servant  not  to  sit  up  for  him,  went  out.     He 
expected  that  Raoul,  if  it  was  Raoul,  would  be  prowling 
near  the  house,  waiting  for  him.     He  was  not  mistaken, 
He  had  hardly  proceeded  thirty  yards,  when  a  man  sud 
denly  sprang  from  behind  a  tree,  and  stood  before  him 
The  night  was  clear,  and  Louis  at  once  recognized  Raoul 

"  What   is   the   matter  1 "  he   impatiently   demanded 
I**  what  has  happened  1  " 

"  Nothing." 

"What!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  nothing  has  gone 
wrong  in  Paris .''  " 

''  Nothing  whatever.  I  will  add,  too,  that,  but  for  your 
inordinate  greed  of  gain,  everything  would  be  going  on 
swimmingly." 

"  Then  why  have  you  come  here  ?  "  cried  Louis,  fiercely. 
"  Who  gave  you  permission  to  desert  your  post,  at  the  risk 
of  ruining  us  both  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  Raoul,  coolly. 

Louis  seized  the  young  man's  wrist,  and  almost  crushed 
*hem  in  his  vice-like  grasp.  "  Explain  this  strange  conduct 
of  yours,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  rage. 

Without  apparent  effort,  Raoul  released  his  hands  from 
their  imprisonment,  and  jeeringly  said :  "  Gently,  my  friend ! 
I  don't  like  being  roughly  treated,  and  I  have  other  means 
of  answering  you."  At  the  same  time,  he  drew  a  revolver 
from  his  pocket. 

"  You  must  and  shall  explain  yourself,"  insisted  Louis ; 
"  if  you  don't — " 

"Well,  if  I  don't.-*  Now,  you  might  just  as  well  spare 
yourself  the  trouble  of  trying  to  frighten  me.  I  intend  to 
answer  your  questions  when  I  choose  ;  but  it  certainly 
won't  be  here,  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  with  the  bright 
moonlight  showing  us  off  to  advantage.  How  do  you 
know  people  are  not  watching  us  this  very  minute  1  Come 
this  way." 

They  strode  through  the  fields,  regardless  of  the  plants, 
which  they  trampled  under  foot  in  order  to  take  a  short 
cut. 

"  Now,"  began  Raoul,  when  they  were  at  a  safe  distance 
from  the  road,  "  now,  my^lear  uncle,  I  will  tell  you  what 
brings  me  here.  I  have  received  and  carefully  read  your 
letters,  and  read  them  more  than  once.  You  wished  to  be 
prudent,  and  the  consequence  w^s  that  your  letters  wor? 


FILE  NO.  113.  2(^ 

unintelligible.     Only  one  thing  did  I  understand  clearly : 
we  are  in  danger." 

"  Only  the  more  reason  for  your  watchfulness  and  obedi- 
ence." 

"Very  well  put.  Only,  before  braving  danger,  my  ven> 
erable  and  beloved  uncle,  I  want  to  know  its  extent.  I 
am  not  a  man  to  retreat  in  the  hour  of  peril,  but  I  want  to 
know  exactly  how  much  risk  I  am  running." 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  keep  quiet  ? " 

"'But  to  do  this  would  imply  that  I  have  perfect  confi 
dence  in  you,  my  dear  uncle,"  said  Raoul,  sneeringly. 

"  And  why  should  you  not  ?  What  reasons  for  distrust 
have  you,  after  all  that  I  have  done  for  you  ?  Who  went 
to  London,  and  rescued  you  from  a  state  of  privation  and 
ignominy?  I  did.  Who  gave  you  a  name  and  position 
when  you  had  neither  ?  I  did.  And  who  is  working  even 
now  to  maintain  your  present  life  of  ease,  and  insure  you 
a  splendid  future  ?     I  am." 

"  Superb,  magnificent,  inimitable  !  "  said  Raoul  with 
mocking  admiration.  "  But,  while  on  the  subject,  why 
don't  you  prove  that  3^ou  have  sacrificed  yourself  for  my 
sake  ?  You  did  not  need  me  as  a  tool  for  carrying  out 
plans  for  your  own  benefit ;  did  you  ?  oh  no,  not  at  all ! 
Dear,  kind,  generous,  disinterested  uncle  !  You  ought  to 
have  the  Montyon  prize  ;  I  must  recommend  you  for  it." 

De  Clameran  was  so  enraged  that  he  feared  to  trust 
himself  to  speak. 

"  Now,  my  good  uncle,"  continued  Raoul  more  seriously, 
"  we  had  better  end  this  child's  play,  and  come  to  a  clear 
understanding.  I  followed  you  here,  because  I  thoroughly 
understand  your  character,  and  have  just  as  much  confidence 
in  you  as  you  deserve,  and  not  a  particle  more.  If  it  were 
for  your  advantage  to  ruin  me,  you  would  not  hesitate  one 
instant.  If  danger  threatened  us,  you  would  fly  alone,  and 
leave  your  dutiful  nephew  to  make  his  escape  the  best  way 
he  could.  Oh  !  don't  look  shocked,  and  pretend  to  deny 
it ;  your  conduct  is  perfectly  natural,  and  in  your  place  I 
would  act  the  same  way.  Only  remember  this,  that  I  am 
not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with.  Now  let  us  cease  these  un- 
necessary recriminations,  and  come  to  the  point  :  what 
has  been  happening  here  ?  " 

Louis  saw  that  his  accomplice  was  too  shrewd  to  be  de- 
ceived,  and  that  the  safest  course  was  to  trust  all  to  him, 


«70  FILE  NO.  113. 

and  to  pretend  that  he  had  intended  doing  so  all  aiong. 
Without  any  show  of  anger,  he  briefly  and  clearly  related 
all  that  had  occurred  at  his  brother's.  He  told  the  truth 
about  everything  except  the  amount  of  his  brother's  for- 
tune, the  importance  of  which  he  lessened  as  much  as 
possible. 

" Well,"  said  Raoul,  when  the  report  was  ended,  "we 
are  in  a  nice  fix.    And  you  expect  to  get  out  of  it,  do  you  ? ''' 

"  Yes,  if  you  don't  betray  me." 

"  I  wish  you  to  understand,  marquis,  that  I  have  never 
betrayed  any  one  yet.  What  steps  will  you  take  to  get  free 
of  this  entanglement  .'*  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet ;  but  something  will  turn  up.  Oh, 
don't  be  alarmed  ;  I'll  find  some  means  of  escape  :  so  you 
can  return  home  with  your  mind  set  at  rest.  You  run  no 
risk  in  Paris,  and  I  will  stay  here  to  watch  Gaston." 

Raoul  reflected  for  some  moments,  and  then  said  :  "  Are 
you  sure  I  am  out  of  danger  in  Paris  ? " 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  "i  We  have  Madame  Fauvel 
so  completely  in  our  power  that  she  would  not  dare  speak 
a  word  against  us,  even  if  she  knew  the  whole  truth,  which 
no  one  but  you  and  I  know  :  she  would  not  not  open  her 
lips,  but  be  only  too  glad  to  hush  up  matters  so  as  to  es- 
cape punishment  for  her  fault  from  her  deceived  husband 
and  a  censuring  world." 

"  That  is  so.  I  know  we  have  a  secure  hold  on  her," 
said  Raoul.     *'  It  is  not  of  her  I  am  afraid." 

"  Of  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  An  enemy  of  your  own  making,  my  respected  uncle,  a 
most  implacable  enemy — Madeleine." 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  replied  De  Clameran  disdainfully. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  treat  her  with  contempt," 
said  Raoul  gravely ;  "  but  I  can  tell  you,  you  are  much 
mistaken  in  your  estimate  of  her  character.  I  have  studied 
her  lately,  and  see  that  she  has  devoted  herself  to  save  her 
aunt ;  but  she  has  not  given  in.  She  has  promised  to 
marry  you,  she  has  discarded  Prosper,  who  is  broken- 
hearted, it  is  true  ;  but  she  has  not  given  up  hope.  You 
imagine  her  to  be  weak  and  yielding,  easily  frightened  ? 
It's  a  great  mistake  :  she  is  self-reliant  and  fearless. 
More  than  that,  she  is  in  love,  my  good  uncle  ;  and  a 
woman  will  defend  her  love  as  a  tigress  defends  her  young. 
There  is  the  danger," 


FILE  NO.  113.  271 

"  She  is  worth  five  hundred  thousand  francs." 

"  So  she  is  ;  and  at  five  per  cent,  we  would  each  have  aw 
income  of  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  francs.  But,  for 
all  that,  you  had  better  take  my  advice,  and  give  up  Made- 
leine." 

"  Never,  I  swear  by  heaven !  "  exclaimed  De  Clameran. 
"  Rich  or  poor,  she  shall  be  mine  !  I  first  wanted  her  for 
her  money,  but  now  I  want  her — I  love  her  for  herself, 
Raoul  !  " 

Raoul  seemed  to  be  amazed  at  this  declaration  of  his 
iincle.  He  raised  his  hands,  and  started  back  with  aston- 
ishment. "  Is  it  possible,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  in  love 
with  Madeleine  ? — you  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Louis  in  a  tone  of  suspicion.  "  Is  there 
anything  so  very  extraordinary  in  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  certainly  not !  only  this  sentimental  state  you 
are  in  explains  your  strange  behavior.  So,  you  love  Made- 
leine !  Then,  my  venerable  uncle,  we  may  as  well  surren- 
der at  once." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  you  know  the  axiom,  '  When  the  heart  is  in- 
terested, the  head  is  lost.'  Generals  in  love  always  lose 
their  battles.  The  day  is  not  far  off  when  your  infatuation 
for  Madeleine  will  make  you  sell  us  both  for  a  smile. 
And,  mark  my  words,  she  is  shrewd,  and  watching  us  as 
only  an  enemy  can  watch." 

With  a  forced  laugh  De  Clameran  interrupted  his 
nephew. 

*'  Just  see  how  you  fire  up  for  nothing,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  dislike  the  charming  Madeleine  then  very  much." 

"  She  will  prove  lo  be  our  ruin ;  that  is  all." 

"  You  might  as  well  be  frank,  and  say  you  are  in  love 
with  her  yourself." 

"  I  am  only  in  love  with  her  money,"  retorted  Raoul 
with  an  angry  frown. 

"  Then  what  are  you  complaining  of  ?  I  shall  give  you 
half  her  fortune.  You  will  have  the  money  without  being 
troubled  with  the  wife  ;  the  profit  without  the  burden." 

"I  am  not  over  fifty  years  old,"  said  Raoul  conceit* 
edly. 

"  Enough  of  this,"  interrupted  Louis,  angrily.  "  The 
day  I  relieved  your  pressing  wants,  and  brought  you  to 
Paris,  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  be  the  master." 


2*^2  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  forget  that  my  liberty,  perhaps  my  life, 
is  at  stake.  You  may  hold  the  cards,  but  I  must  have  the 
right  of  advising  you." 

It  was  midnight  before  the  accomplices  separated.  "  It 
won't  do  to  stand  idle,"  said  Louis.  "  I  agree  with  you 
that  something  must  be  done  at  once  ;  but  I  can't  decide 
what  it  shall  be  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Meet  me  here 
at  this  hour,  to-morrow  night,  and  I  will  have  some  plan 
ready  for  you." 

"  Very  good.     I  will  be  here." 

"  And  remember,  don't  be  imprudent !  " 

"  My  costume  ought  to  convince  you  that  I  am  not  anx- 
ious to  be  recognized  by  any  one.  I  left  such  an  ingen- 
ious alibi,  that  I  defy  anybody  to  prove  that  I  have  been 
absent  from  the  house  at  Vesinet.  I  even  took  the  pre- 
caution of  travelling  here  third-class.  Well,  good-night ;  I 
am  going  to  the  inn." 

Raoul  went  off  after  these  words,  apparently  uncon- 
scious of  having  aroused  suspicion  in  the  breast  of  his  ac- 
complice. During  his  adventurous  life,  De  Clameran  had 
transacted  "  business  "  with  too  many  scamps  not  to  know 
the  precise  amount  of  confidence  to  place  in  a  man  like 
Raoul.  The  old  adage,  "  Honor  among  thieves,"  seldom 
holds  good  after  the  "  stroke."  There  is  always  a  quar- 
rel over  the  division  of  the  spoils.  The  distrustful  De 
Clameran  foresaw  already  a  thousand  reasons  for  fear  and 
disputes.  "  Why,"  he  pondered,  "  did  Raoul  assume  this 
disguise  ?  Why  this  alibi  at  Paris  ?  Can  he  be  laying  a 
trap  for  me  "i  It  is  true  that  I  have  a  hold  upon  him  ; 
but  then  I  am  completely  at  his  mercy.  Those  accursed 
letters  which  I  have  written  to  him,  while  here,  are  so  many 
proofs  against  me.  Can  he  be  thinking  of  cutting  loose 
from  me,  and  making  oif  with  all  the  profits  of  our  enter- 
prise ?  " 

Louis  never  once  during  the  night  closed  his  eyes  ;  but 
by  daybreak  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  how  to  act, 
and  with  feverish  impatience  waited  for  night.  His  anx- 
iety made  him  so  restless,  that  the  unobserving  Gaston 
finally  noticed  it,  and  asked  him  what  the  matter  was  ;  if  he 
was  ill,  or  troubled  about  anything.  At  last  evening  came, 
and  Louis  was  able  to  join  Raoul,  whom  he  found  lying  on 
the  grass  smoking  in  the  field  where  they  had  talked  on 
the  preceding  evening. 


FILE  NO.  113.  273 

"  Well,"  he  carelessly  asked,  as  Louis  approached,  "have 
you  decided  upon  anything  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  two  projects,  either  of  which  is,  I  think, 
sure  of  success." 

"  I  am  listening." 

Louis  was  silent  for  a  minute,  as  if  arranging  his  thoughts 
so  as  to  present  them  as  clearly  and  briefly  as  possible. 
"  My  nrst  plan,"  he  began,  "depends  upon  your  approval. 
What  would  you  say,  if  I  proposed  to  you  to  give  up  the 
affair  altogether  ?  " 

"What!" 

"  Would  you  consent  to  disappear,  leave  France,  and 
return  to  London,  if  I  paid  you  a  good  round  sum  1 " 

"  What  do  you  call  a  good  round  sum  .? " 

"  I  could  give  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

"  My  respected  uncle,"  said  Raoul,  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug,  "  I  am  distressed  to  see  how  little  you  know  me  ! 
You  try  to  deceive  me,  to  outwit  me,  which  is  ungenerous 
and  foolish  on  your  part — ungenerous,  because  it  fails  to 
carry  out  your  agreement ;  foolish,  because,  as  you  ought 
to  know  by  now,  my  power  equals  yours." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  understand  myself,  and  that  is 
sufficient.  Oh,  I  know  you,  my  dear  uncle  !  I  have 
watched  you  with  careful  eyes,  which  are  not  to  be  de- 
ceived ;  I  see  through  you  clearly.  If  you  offer  me  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  it  is  because  you  intend 
to  walk  off  with  a  million  for  yourself." 

"You  are  talking  like  a  fool,"  said  De  Clameran,  with 
virtuous  indignation. 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  only  judge  the  future  by  the  past.  Of 
all  the  large  sums  extorted  from  Madame  Fauvel,  often 
against  my  wishes,  I  have  scarcely  received  a  tenth  part." 

"  But  you  know  we  have  a  reserve  fund." 

"  All  very  good  ;  but  you  have  the  keeping  of  it,  my  good 
uncle.  If  our  little  plot  were  to  be  discovered  to-morrow, 
you  would  walk  off  with  the  money-box,  and  leave  your 
devoted  nephew  to  be  sent  to  prison." 

"  Ungrateful  fellow  !  "  muttered  Louis,  as  if  distressed 
at  these  undeserved  reproaches. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Raoul;  "you  said  it  splendidly.     But 
we  have  not  time  for  this  nonsense.     I  will  end  the  matter 
by  proving  how  you  have  been  trying  to  deceive  me." 
18 


274  PILE  NO.  113. 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  you  do  so,  if  you  can." 

"  Very  good.  In  the  first  place,  you  told  me  that  yom 
brother  only  possessed  a  modest  competency.  Now,  I 
learn  that  Gaston  has  an  income  of  at  least  sixty  thousand 
francs  ;  it  is  useless  for  you  to  deny  it.  And  how  much  is 
this  property  worth  ?  A  hundred  thousand  crowns.  He 
has  four  hundred  thousand  francs  deposited  in  M.  Fauvel's 
bank.  Total,  seven  hundred  thousand  francs.  And  be- 
sides all  this,  the  broker  in  Oloron  has  instructions  to  buy 
up  a  large  amount  of  government  stock  for  him.  I  have 
not  wasted  my  day,  as  you  see." 

Raoul's  information  was  too  concise  and  exact  for  Louis 
to  deny  it. 

"You  might  have  sense,  enough,"  Raoul  went  on,  "to 
know  how  to  manage  your  forces  if  you  undertake  to  be  a 
commander.  We  had  a  splendid  game  in  our  hands  ;  and 
you,  who  held  the  cards,  have  made  a  perfect  muddle  of  it." 

"  I  think—" 

"  That  the  game  is  lost  t  That  is  my  opinion  too,  and  all 
through  you." 

"  I  could  not  control  events." 

"  Yes,  you  could,  if  you  had  been  shrewd.  Fools  sit 
down  and  wait  for  an  opportunity ;  sensible  men  make 
one.  What  did  we  agree  upon  in  London  ?  We  were  to 
implore  my  good  mother  to  assist  us  a  little,  and  if  she 
complied  with  our  wishes,  we  were  to  be  flattering  and  af- 
fectionate in  our  devotion  to  her ;  but,  at  the  risk  of  killing 
the  golden  goose,  you  have  made  me  torment  the  poor 
woman,  until  she  is  almost  crazy." 

"  It  was  prudent  to  hasten  matters." 

"  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  Was  it  also  to  hasten  matters 
that  you  took  it  into  your  head  to  marry  Madeleine  }  That 
made  it  necessary  to  let  her  into  the  secret ;  and,  ever 
since,  she  has  advised  and  set  her  aunt  against  us.  I 
would  not  be  surprised  if  she  makes  her  confess  everything 
to  M.  Fauvel,  or  even  inform  against  us  at  the  Prefecture  of 
Police." 

"  I  love  Madeleine  !  " 

"You  told  me  that  before.  And  suppose  you  do  love 
her.  You  led  me  into  this  piece  of  business  without  hav- 
ing studied  its  various  bearings — without  knowing  what 
you  were  about.  No  one  but  an  idiot,  my  beloved  uncle, 
would  go  and  put  his  foot  into  a  trap,  and  then  say,  '  If  1 


FILE  NO.  113.  275 

had  only  known  about  it ! '  You  should  have  made  it  your 
business  to  know  everything.  You  came  to  me,  and  said, 
*Your  father  is  dead.'  But  not  at  all,  he  is  living:  and, 
after  what  we  have  done,  I  dare  not  appear  before  him. 
He  would  have  left  me  a  million,  and  now  I  shall  not  get 
a  sou.     He  will  find  his  Valentine,  and  then  good-by." 

"  Enough  !  "  angrily  interrupted  Louis.  "  If  I  have  made 
a  mistake,  I  know  how  to  redeem  it.  I  can  save  everything 
yet." 

"  You  can  ?     How  so  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  secret,"  said  Louis,  gloomily. 

Louis  and  Raoul  were  silent  for  a  minute ;  and  this  si- 
lence between  them,  in  this  lonely  spot,  at  dead  of  night, 
was  so  horribly  significant,  that  both  of  them  shuddered. 
An  abominable  thought  had  flashed  across  their  evil  minds, 
and,  without  a  word  or  look  they  understood  each  other. 

Louis  broke  the  ominous  silence  by  abruptly  saying : 
"  Then  you  refuse  to  disappear  if  I  pay  you  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs  ?  Think  it  over  before  deciding  ; 
it  is  not  too  late  yet." 

"  I  have  fully  thought  it  over.  I  know  you  will  not  at- 
tempt to  deceive  me  any  more.  Between  certain  ease,  and 
the  probability  of  an  immense  fortune,  I  choose  the  lat- 
ter at  all  risks.  I  will  share  your  success  or  your  failure  ; 
we  will  swim  or  sink  tOijether." 

"  And  you  will  follow  my  instructions  ?" 

"  Blindly." 

Raoul  must  have  been  very  certain  of  Louis's  intentions, 
for  he  did  not  ask  him  a  single  question.  Perhaps  he  dared 
not.  Perhaps  he  preferred  doubt  to  shocking  certainty,  as 
if  he  could  thus  escape  the  remorse  attendant  upon  crim- 
inal complicity. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Louis,  "you  must  at  once  re- 
turn to  Paris." 

"  I  will  be  there  in  forty-eight  hours." 

"You  must  be  constantly  at  Madame  FauveFs  and  keep 
me  informed  of  everything  that  takes  place  in  the  family." 

"  I  understand." 

Louis  laid  his  hand  on  Raoul's  shoulder,  as  if  to  impress 
upon  his  mind  what  he  was  about  to  say.  "  You  have  a 
sure  means  of  being  restored  to  your  mother's  confidence 
and  affection,  by  blaming  me  for  everything  that  has  hap- 
pened to  distress  her.     Abuse  me  constantly.     The  more 


276  PILE  NO.  113. 

odious  you  render  me  in  her  eyes  and  those  of  Madeleine, 
the  better  you  will  serve  me.  Nothing  would  please  me 
more  than  to  be  denied  admittance  to  the  house  when  I  re. 
turn  to  Paris.  You  must  say  that  you  have  quarrelled  with 
me,  and  that  if  I  still  come  to  see  you,  it  is  because  you 
cannot  prevent  it.  That  is  the  scheme  :  you  can  develop 
it." 

Raoul  listened  to  these  strange  instructions  with  astonish- 
ment. "  What !  "  he  cried  ;  "  you  adore  Madeleine,  and 
take  this  means  of  winning  her  good  graces  ?  An  odd  way 
of  earring  on  a  courtship,  I  must  confess  !  I  will  be  shot  if 
I  can  comprehend." 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  your  comprehending." 

"All  right,"  said  Raoul,  submissively.  "If  you  say 
so." 

Then  Louis  reflected  that  no  one  could  properly  execute 
a  commission  without  having  at  least,  an  idea  of  its  nature. 
"Did  you  ever  hear,"  he  asked  Raoul,  "of  the  man  who 
burned  down  his  lady-love's  house  so  as  to  have  the  bliss 
of  carrying  her  out  in  his  arms  .''  " 

"  Yes  ;  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  At  the  proper  time,  I  will  charge  you  to  set  fire  morally 
to  Madame  Fauvel's  house ;  and  I  will  rush  in,  and  save 
her  and  her  niece.  Now,  in  the  eyes  of  those  women,  my 
<:onduct  will  appear  more  magnanimous  and  noble  in  pro- 
portion to  the  contempt  and  abuse  they  have  heaped  upon 
me.  I  gain  nothing  by  patient  devotion  ;  I  have  every- 
thing ^o  hope  from  a  sudden  change  of  tactics.  A  well- 
raanaged  stroke  will  transform  a  demon  into  an  angel." 

"  Very  well ;  a  good  idea ! "  said  Raoul,  approvingly, 
when  his  uncle  had  finished. 

"  Then  you  understand  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  will  write  to  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  and  if  anything  should  happen  at  Paris — " 

"  I  will  telegraph  to  you." 
'     "And  never  lose  sight  of  my  rival,  the  cashier." 

"  Prosper  .?  Not  much  danger  of  our  being  troubled  by 
him,  poor  boy  !  He  is  just  now  my  most  devoted  friend. 
Trouble  has  driven  him  into  a  path  of  life  which  will  soon 
prove  his  destruction.  Every  now  and  then  I  pity  him 
from  the  bottom  of  my  soul." 

"Pity  him  as  much  as  you  like." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  and  separated,  apparently  the 


FILE  NO.  113.  277 

best  friends  in  the  world  ;  in  reality,  the  bitterest  enemies. 
Raoul  would  not  forgive  Louis  for  having  attempted  to  ap- 
propriate all  the  booty  and  leave  him  in  the  lurch,  when 
it  was  he  who  had  risked  the  greatest  dangers.  Louis,  on 
his  part,  was  alarmed  at  the  attitude  taken  by  Raoul.  Thus 
far  he  had  found  him  tractable,  and  even  blindly  obedient; 
and  now  he  had  suddenly  become  rebellious  and  threaten- 
ing. Instead  of  ordering  Raoul,  he  was  forced  to  consult 
and  bargain  with  him.  What  could  be  more  wounding  to 
his  vanity  and  self-conceit  than  the  reproaches,  well  found- 
ed though  they  were,  to  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  listen 
from  a  mere  youth  ?  As  he  walked  back  to  his  brother's 
house,  thinking  over  vvhc^t  had  just  occurred,  Louis  swore 
that  sobner  or  later  he  would  be  revenged,  and  that  as  soon 
as  he  could,  he  would  take  means  of  getting  rid  of  Raoul 
forever.  But  for  the  present  he  was  so  afraid  of  his  young  ac- 
complice that,  according  to  his  promise,  he  wrote  to  him  the 
next  day,  and  every  succeeding  day,  full  particulars  of  every- 
thing that  happened.  Seeing  how  important  it  was  to  re- 
store his  shaken  confidence,  Louis  entered  into  the  most 
minute  details  of  his  plans.  The  situation  remained  the 
same  :  the  dark  cloud  hung  threateningly  near,  but  grew  no 
larger. 

Gaston  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  written  to 
Beaucaire,  and  never  mentioned  Valentine's  name  once. 
Like  all  men  accustomed  to  a  busy  life,  Gaston  was  miser- 
able except  when  occupied,  and  spent  his  whole  time  in  the 
foundry,  which  seemed  to  absorb  him  entirely.  It  was 
losing  money  when  he  purchased  it ;  but  he  determined  to 
work  it  until  it  should  be  equally  beneficial  to  himself  and 
the  neighborhood.  He  engaged  the  services  of  an  intel- 
ligent engineer,  and,  thanks  to  untiring  energy  and  new 
improvements  in  machinery,  his  receipts  soon  more  than 
equalled  his  expenses 

"  Now  that  we  are  doing  so  well,"  said  Gaston  joyously, 
"  we  shall  certainly  make  twenty-five  thousand  francs  next 
year." 

Next  year  !  Alas,  poor  Gaston  !  Five  days  after  Raoul 's 
departure,  one  Saturday  afternoon,  Gaston  was  suddenly 
taken  ill.  He  had  a  sort  of  vertigo,  and  was  so  dizzy  that 
he  was  forced  to  lie  down. 

"  I  know  what  is  the  matter,"  he  said.  "  I  have  often 
been  ill  in  this  way  at  Rio,     A  couple  of  hours'  sleep  will 


278  PILE  NO.  113. 

cure  me.     I  will  lie  down,  and  you  can  send  some  one  to 
awaken  me  when  dinner  is  ready,  Louis." 

Bat  when  the  servant  came  to  announce  dinner,  he  found 
Gaston  much  worse.  He  had  a  violent  headache,  a  chok- 
ing sensation  in  his  throat,  and  dimness  of  vision.  But  his 
worst  symptom  was  dysphonia ;  he  would  try  to  articulate 
one  word,  and  find  himself  using  another.  His  jaw-bones 
became  so  stiff,  that  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
he  opened  his  mouth.  Louis  came  up  to  his  brother's  room, 
and  urged  him  to  send  for  the  physician.  "  No,"  said 
Gaston,  "  I  won't  have  any  doctor  to  make  me  ill  with  all 
sorts  of  medicines.  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me,  and 
my  indisposition  will  be  cured  by  a  simple  remedy  which  I 
have  alwavs  used."  At  the  same  time  he  ordered  Manuel, 
his  old  Spanish  servant,  who  had  lived  with  him  for  ten 
years,  to  prepare  him  some  lemonade. 

The  next  day  Gaston  appeared  to  be  much  better.  He 
ate  his  breakfast,  and  was  about  to  take  a  walk,  when  the 
pains  of  the  previous  day  suddenly  returned  in  a  more  vio- 
lent form.     Without  consulting  his  brother,  Louis  sent  to 

Oloron  for  Dr.  C ,  whose  wonderful  cures  had  won  him 

a  wide  reputation.  The  doctor  declared  that  there  was  no 
danger,  and  merely  prescribed  a  dose  of  valerian,  and  a  blis- 
ter with  some  grains  of  morphine  sprinkled  on  it.  But  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  all  the  symptoms  suddenly  changed 
for  the  worse.  The  pain  in  the  head  was  succeeded  by  a 
fearful  oppression,  and  the  sick  man  suffe-red  torture  in 
trying  to  get  his  breath.     Daybreak  found  him  still  tossing 

restlessly  from  pillow  to  pillow.     When  Dr.  C came 

early  in  the  morning,  he  appeared  very  much  surprised  at 
this  change  for  the  worse.  He  inquired  if  they  had  not 
used  too  much  morphine.  Manuel  said  that  he  had  put  the 
blister  on  his  master,  and  the  doctor's  directions  had  been 
accurately  followed.  The  doctor,  after  having  examined 
Gaston,  and  found  his  breathing  heavy  and  irregular,  pre- 
scribed leeches  and  a  heavy  dose  of  sulphate  of  quinine  ; 
he  then  retired,  saying  he  would  return  the  next  day.  As 
soon  as  the  doctor  had  gone,  Gaston  sent  for  a  friend  of 
his,  a  lawyer,  to  come  to  him^  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  !  what  do  you  want  with  a  lawyer  "i " 
inquired  Louis. 

"  I  want  his  advice,  brother.  It  is  useless  to  try  and  de- 
ceive ourselves ;  I  know  I  am  extremely  ill.     Only  timid 


FILE  NO,  113.  279 

fools  are  superstitious  about  making  their  wills.  I  would 
rather  have  the  lawyer  at  once,  and  then  my  mind  will  be 
at  rest." 

Gaston  did  not  think  he  was  about  to  die  ;  but,  know- 
ing the  uncertainty  of  life,  determined  to  be  prepared  for 
the  worst.  He  had  too  often  imperilled  his  life,  and 
been  face  to  face  with  death,  to  feel  any  fear  now.  He 
had  made  his  will  while  ill  at  Bordeaux  ;  but  now  that  he 
had  found  Louis,  he  wished  to  leave  him  all  his  property, 
and  sent  for  his  business  man  to  advise  as  to  the  best 
means  of  disposing  of  his  wealth  for  his  benefit.  The 
lawyer  was  a  shrewd,  wiry  little  man,  very  popular,  and 
perfectly  familiar  with  all  the  intricacies  of  the  law. 
Nothing  delighted  him  more  than  to  succeed  in  eluding 
some  stringent  article  of  the  Code  ;  and  he  often  sacrificed 
large  fees  for  the  sake  of  outwitting  his  opponent,  and 
controverting  the  justness  of  a  decision.  Once  aware  of 
his  client's  wishes  and  intentions,  he  had  but  one  idea, 
and  that  was  to  carry  them  out  as  inexpensively  as  possi- 
ble, by  skilfully  evading  the  heavy  costs  to  be  paid  by 
the  inheritor  of  the  estate.  He  explained  to  Gaston  that 
he  could,  by  an  act  of  partnership,  associate  Louis  in  his 
business  enterprises,  by  signing  an  acknowledgment  that 
half  of  the  money  invested  in  these  various  concerns  be- 
longed to  and  had  been  advanced  by  his  brother  ;  so  that 
in  the  event  of  Gaston's  death,  Louis  would  only  have  to 
pay  taxes  on  half  the  fortune.  Gaston  eagerly  took  ad- 
vantage of  this  fiction  ;  not  that  he  thought  of  the  money 
saved  by  the  transaction  if  he  died,  but  this  would  be  a 
favorable  opportunity  for  sharing  his  riches  with  Louis 
without  wounding  his  delicate  sensibility.  A  deed  of 
partnership  between  Gaston  and  Louis  de  Clameran,  for 
the  working  of  a  cast-iron  mill,  was  drawn  up  ;  this  deed 
acknowledged  Louis  to  have  invested  five  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  as  his  share  of  the  capital. 

When  Louis  was  called  in  to  sign  the  paper,  he  violently 
opposed  his  brother's  project.  "  Why  do  you  distress  me 
by  maKing  these  preparations  for  death,  merely  because 
you  are  suffering  from  a  slight  indisposition  ?  Do  you 
think  that  I  would  consent  to  accept  your  wealth  during 
your  lifetime  ?  If  you  die,  I  am  your  heir  ;  if  you  live,  I 
enjoy  your  property  as  if  it  were  my  owrio  What  more 
car.  you  wish  }  " 


28o  FILE  NO.  113. 

Vain  remonstrances.  Gaston  was  not  a  man  to  be  per- 
suaded from  accomplishing  a  purpose  upon  which  he  had 
fully  set  his  heart.  When,  after  mature  deliberation,  he 
made  a  resolution,  he  always  carried  it  out  in  spite  of  all 
opposition.  After  a  long  and  heroic  resistance,  which 
showed  great  nobleness  of  character  and  rare  disinter- 
estedness, Louis,  urged  by  the  physician,  finally  yielded, 
and  signed  his  name  to  the  papers  drawn  up  by  the  law- 
yer. It  was  done.  Now  he  was  legally  Gaston's  partner, 
and  possessor  of  half  his  fortune.  No  court  of  law  could 
deprive  him  of  what  had  been  deeded  with  all  the  legal 
formalities,  even  if  his  brother  should  change  his  mind 
and  try  to  get  back  his  property.  The  strangest  sensations 
now  filled  Louis's  breast.  He  was  in  a  state  of  delirious 
excitement,  often  felt  by  persons  suddenly  raised  from 
poverty  to  affluence.  Whether  Gaston  lived  or  died,  Louis 
was  the  lawful  possessor  of  an  income  of  twenty-five 
thousand  francs,  without  counting  the  eventual  profits  of 
the  iron-works.  At  no  time  in  his  life  had  he  hoped  for 
or  dreamed  of  such  wealth.  His  wildest  wishes  were  sur- 
passed. What  more  could  he  want  ?  Alas !  he  wanted 
the  power  of  enjoying  these  riches  in  peace  :  they  had 
come  too  late.  This  fortune,  fallen  from  the  skies,  should 
have  filled  his  heart  with  joy,  whereas  it  only  made  him 
melancholy  and  angry.  This  unlooked-for  happiness 
seemed  to  have  been  sent  by  cruel  fate  as  a  punishment 
for  his  past  sins.  Although  his  conscience  told  him  that 
he  deserved  this  misery,  he  blamed  Gaston  entirely  for 
his  present  torture.  Yes,  he  held  Gaston  responsible  for 
the  horrible  situation  in  which  he  found  himself.  His  let- 
ters to  Raoul  for  several  days  expressed  all  the  fluctua- 
tions of  his  mind,  and  revealed  glimpses  of  coming  evil. 

"  I  have  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a  year,"  he  wrote 
to  him,  a  few  hours  after  signmg  the  deed  of  partnership ; 
"  and  I  possess  in  my  own  right  five  hundred  thousand 
francs.  One-fourth  of  this  sum  would  have  made  me  the 
happiest  of  men  a  year  ago  ;  now  it  is  of  no  use  to  me. 
All  the  gold  on  earth  could  not  remove  one  of  the  difficul- 
ties of  our  situation.  Yes,  you  were  right.  I  have  been 
imprudent ;  but  I  pay  dear  for  my  precipitation.  Rich  or 
poor,  I  have  cause  to  tremble  as  long  as  there  is  any  risk 
of  a  meeting  between  Gaston  and  Valentine.  How  can 
they  be  kept  apart  ?    Will  niy  brother  renounce  his  plan 


FILE  NO.  113.  281 

of  discovering  the  whereabouts  of  this  woman  whom  he  so 
loved?" 

No  ;  Gaston  would  never  be  turned  from  his  search  for 
his  first  love,  as  he  proved  by  calling  for  her  in  the  most 
beseeching  tones  when  he  was  suffering  his  worst  parox- 
ysms of  pain.  He  grew  no  better.  In  spite  of  the  most 
careful  nursing  his  symptoms  changed,  but  showed  no 
improvement.  Each  attack  was  more  violent  than  the 
preceding  one.  Towards  the  end  of  the  week,  however, 
the  pains  left  his  head,  and  he  felt  well  enough  to  get  up 
and  partake  of  a  slight  nourishment.  But  poor  Gaston 
was  a  mere  shadow  of  his  former  self.  In  one  week  he 
had  aged  ten  years.  His  strong  constitution  was  broken. 
He,  who  ten  days  ago  was  boasting  of  his  vigorous  health, 
was  now  weak  and  bent  like  an  old  ^man.  He  could 
hardly  drag  himself  along,  and  shivered  in  the  warm  sun 
as  if  he  were  bloodless.  Leaning  on  Louis's  arm,  he 
slowly  walked  down  to  look  at  the  forge,  and,  seating 
himself  before  a  furnace  at  full  blast,  he  declared  that  he 
felt  very  much  better,  that  this  intense  heat  revived  him. 
His  pains  were  all  gone,  and  he  could  breathe  without 
difficulty. 

His  spirits  rose,  and  he  turned  to  the  workmen  gathered 
around,  and  saidycheerfully  :  "  I  was  not  blest  with  a  good 
constitution  for  nothing,  my  friends,  and  I  shall  soon  be 
well  again." 

When  the  neighbors  called  to  see  him,  and  insisted 
that  this  illness  was  entirely  owing  to  change  of  climate, 
Gaston  replied  that  he  supposed  they  were  right,  and  that 
he  ought  to  return  to  Rio  as  soon  as  he  was  well  enough 
to  travel.  What  hope  this  answer  roused  in  Louis's 
breast !  "  Yes,"  he  eagerly  said,  "  I  will  go  with  you.  A 
trip  to  Brazil  would  be  charming !  " 

But  the  next  day  Gaston  had  changed  his  mind.  He  told 
Louis  that  he  felt  almost  well,  and  was  determined  not  to 
leave  France.  He  proposed  going  to  Paris  to  consult  the 
best  physicians,  and  then  he  would  see  Valentine.  As 
his  illness  increased,  he  became  more  surprised  and  troub- 
led at  not  hearing  from  Beaucaire.  He  wrote  again  in 
the  most  pressing  terms,  and  asked  for  a  reply  by  return 
of  post.  This  letter  was  never  received  by  Lafourcade. 
That  night,  Gaston's  sufferings  returned  with  renewed 
violence,  and  for  the  first  time  Dr.  C was  uneasy.     A 


282  FILE  NO.  113. 

fatal  termination  seemed  possible.  Gaston's  pain  left  him 
in  a  measure,  but  he  was  growing  weaker  every  moment 
His  heart  beat  slower,  and  his  feet  were  as  cold  as  ice. 
On  the  fourteenth  day  of  his  illness,  after  lying  in  a  stupor 
for  several  hours,  he  revived  sufficiently  to  ask  for  a 
priest,  saying  that  he  would  follow  the  example  of  his  an- 
cestors, and  die  like  a  Christian.  The  priest  left  him  af- 
ter half  an  hour's  interview,  and  all  the  workmen  were  sun> 
tnoned  to  receive  their  master's  farewell.  Gaston  spoke 
a  few  kind  words  to  them  all,  saying  that  he  had  provided  for 
them  in  his  will.  After  they  had  gone,  he  made  Louis 
promise  to  carry  on  the  iron-works,  embraced  him  for  the 
last  time,  and  sank  back  on  his  pillow  in  a  dying  state. 
As  the  bell  toiled  for  noon  he  quietly  breathed  his  last. 
Now  Louis  was  in  reality  Marquis  de  Clameran,  and  a 
millionaire  besides.  Two  weeks  later,  having  made  ar- 
rangements with  the  engineer  in  charge  of  the  iron-works 
to  attend  to  everything  during  his  absence,  he  took  his 
seat  in  the  train  for  Paris.  He  had  sent  the  following 
significant  telegram  to  Raoul  the  night  previous :  "  I  ar- 
rive to-morrow." 


XIX. 

Faithful  to  the  programme  laid  down  by  his  accom- 
plice, while  Louis  watched  at  Oloron,  Raoul  remained  in 
Paris  with  the  purpose  of  recovering  Madame  Fauvel's 
confidence  and  affection,  and  of  lulling  any  suspicions 
which  might  have  arisen  in  her  breast.  The  task  was  dif- 
ficult, but  not  impossible.  Madame  Fauvel  had  been  dis- 
tressed by  Raoul's  wild  extravagance,  but  had  never 
ceased  to  love  him.  Whatever  faults  he  had  committed, 
whatever  future  follies  he  might  indulge  in,  he  would  always 
remain  her  best  loved  child,  her  first-born,  the  living 
image  of  her  noble,  handsome  Gaston,  the  lover  of  her 
youth.  She  adored  her  two  sons,  Lucien  and  Abel ;  but 
she  could  not  overcome  an  indulgent  weakness  for  the  un- 
fortunate  child,  torn  from  her  arms  the  day  of  his  birth, 
abandoned  to  the  mercies  of  hired  strangers,  and  for 
twenty  years  deprived  of  home  influences  and  a  mother's 
love.  She  blamed  herself  for  Raoul's  miscondux^t,  and  ac 
cepted  the  responsibilitv  of  it,  saying  to  herself  "  It  is  mf 


FILE  NO.  113.  283 

fault."  Knowing  these  to  be  her  sentiments,  Raoul  did 
not  hesitate  to  lake  advantage  of  them.  Never  were  more 
irresistible  fascinations  employed  for  the  accomplishment 
of  a  wicked  object.  Beneath  an  air  of  innocent  frankness, 
this  precocious  scoundrel  concealed  wonderful  astuteness 
and  penetration.  He  could  at  will  adorn  himself  with  the 
confiding  artlessness  of  youth,  so  that  angels  might  have 
yielded  to  the  soft  look  of  his  large  dark  eyes.  There  were 
few  women  living  who  could  have  resisted  the  thrilling 
tones  of  his  sympathetic  voice.  During  the  month  of 
Louis's  absence,  Madame  Fauvel  was  in  a  state  of  compar 
ative  happiness.  Never  had  this  mother  and  wife — this 
pure,  innocent  woman,  in  spite  of  her  first  and  only  fault 
— enjoyed  such  tranquillity.  She  felt  as  one  under  the 
influence  of  enchantment,  while  revelling  in  the  sun- 
shine of  filial  love,  which  almost  bore  the  character  of 
a  lover's  passion  ;  for  Raoul's  devotion  was  ardent  and 
constant,  his  manner  so  tender  and  winning,  that  any  one 
would  have  taken  him  for  Madame  Fauvel 's  suitor.  As 
she  was  still  at  her  country  house,  and  M.  Fauvel  went  to 
town  every  morning,  she  had  the  whole  of  her  time  to  de- 
vote to  Raoul.  When  she  had  spent  the  morning  with  him 
at  his  house  in  Vesinet,  she  would  often  bring  him  home 
to  dine  and  spend  the  evening  with  her.  All  his  past  faults 
were  forgiven,  or  rather  the  whole  blame  of  them  was  laid 
upon  De  Clameran  ;  for,  now  that  he  was  absent,  had  not 
Raoul  once  more  become  her  noble,  generous,  and  affec- 
tionate son  ?  Raoul  enjoyed  the  life  he  was  leading,  and 
took  such  an  interest  in  the  part  that  he  was  playing,  that 
his  acting  was  perfect.  He  possessed  the  faculty  which 
makes  cheats  successful — faith  in  his  own  impostures. 
Sometimes  he  would  stop  to  think  whether  he  was  telling 
the  truth,  or  acting  a  shameful  comedy.  His  success  was 
U'onderful.  Even  Madeleine,  the  prudent,  distrustful  IVIad- 
tleine.  without  being  able  to  shake  off  her  prejudice 
against  the  young  adventurer,  confessed  that  perhaps  she 
had  been  influenced  by  appearances,  and  had  judged  un- 
justly. Raoul  never  asked  for  money  now.  He  seemed 
to  live  on  nothing. 

Affairs  were  in  this  happy  state  when  Louis  arrived 
from  Oloron.  Although  now  immensely  rich,  he  resolved 
to  make  no  change  in  his  style  of  living,  but  returned  to 
his  apartments  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.     His  only  outlay 


2^4  P^LE  NO.  113. 

was  the  purchase  of  a  handsome  carriage ;  and  this  was 
driven  by  Manuel,  who  consented  to  enter  his  service,  al- 
though Gaston  had  left  him  a  sufficient  sum  to  support  him 
comfortably.  Louis's  dream,  the  height  of  his  ambition, 
was  to  be  ranked  among  the  great  manufacturers  of  France. 
He  was  prouder  of  being  called  "  iron-founder  "  than  of 
his  marquisate.  During  his  adventurous  life,  he  had  met 
with  so  many  titled  gamblers  and  cut-throats,  that  he  no 
longer  believed  in  the  prestige  of  nobility.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  distinguish  the  counterfeit  from  the  genuine.  He 
thought  what  was  so  easily  imitated  was  not  worth  the 
having.  Dearly  bought  experience  had  taught  him  that 
our  unromantic  century  attaches  no  value  to  armorial 
bearings,  unless  their  possessor  is  rich  enough  to  display 
them  upon  a  splendid  coach.  One  can  be  a  marquis 
without  a  marquisate,  but  it  is  impossible  to  be  forge-mas- 
ter without  owning  a  forge.  Louis  now  thirsted  for  the 
homage  of  the  wodd.  All  the  badly  digested  humiliations 
of  the  past  weighed  upon  him.  He  had  suffered  so  much 
contempt  and  scorn  from  his  fellow-men,  that  he  burned  to 
avenge  himself.  After  a  disgraceful  youth,  he  longed  to 
live  a  respected  and  honored  old  age.  His  past  career 
disturbed  him  little.  He  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
the  world  to  know  that  the  sound  of  his  carriage  wheels 
would  silence  the  jeers  of  those  who  knew  his  former  life. 
These  thoughts  fermented  in  Louis's  brain  as  he  journeyed 
from  Pau  to  Paris.  He  troubled  his  mind  not  in  the  least 
about  Raoul,  determining  to  use  him  as  a  tool  so  long  as 
he  needed  his  services,  and  then  pay  him  a  large  sum  if  he 
would  consent  to  leave  him.  All  these  plans  and  thoughts 
were  afterwards  found  noted  down  in  the  diary  which  he 
had  in  his  pocket  at  the  time  of  the  journey. 

The  first  interview  between  the  accomplices  took  place 
at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre.  Raoul,  having  a  practical  turn  of 
mind,  said  he  thought  that  they  ought  both  to  be  contented 
with  the  result  already  obtained,  and  that  it  would  be  folly 
to  try  and  secure  anything  more.  "  What  more  do  we 
want  ?  "  he  asked  his  uncle.  "  We  now  possess  over  a 
million  ;  let  us  divide  it  and  keep  quiet.  We  had  better 
be  satisfied  with  our  good  luck,  and  not  tempt  Provi- 
dence." 

But  ibis  moderation  did  not  suit  Louis.  "  I  am  rich,'' 
lie  replied,  "  but  I  desire  more  than  vvealtb.     \  am  detef 


FILE  NO,  113.  285 

mined  to  marry  Madeleine  :  I  swear  she  shall  be  my  wife  ! 
In  the  first  place,  1  madly  love  her ;  and  then,  as  the 
nephew  of  the  most  eminent  banker  in  Paris,  I  at  once 
gain  high  position  and  public  consideration." 

"  I  tell  you,  uncle,  your  courtship  will  involve  you  in 
great  risks." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  does.  I  choose  to  run  them.  My 
intention  is  to  share  my  fortune  with  you  ;  but  I  will  not 
do  so  till  the  day  after  my  wedding.  Madeleine's  dowry 
will  be  your  share." 

Raoul  was  silent.  De  Clameran  held  the  money,  and 
was  therefore  master  of  the  situation.  "  You  don't  seem 
to  anticipate  any  difficulty  in  carrying  out  your  wishes," 
he  resumed,  discontentedly;  "how  are  you  to  account  for 
your  suddenly  acquired  fortune  ?  M.  Fauvel  knows  that 
a  De  Clameran  lived  at  Oloron,  and  had  money  in  his 
bank.  You  told  him  that  you  never  heard  of  this  person 
bearing  your  name,  and  then,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  you 
come  and  say  you  have  inherited  his  fortune." 

"  You  are  an  innocent  youth,  nephew  ;  your  ingenuous- 
ness is  amusing." 

"Explain  yourself." 

"  Certainly.  The  banker,  his  wife,  and  Madeleine  must 
be  informed  that  the  De  Clameran  of  Oloron  was  a  natu- 
ral son  of  my  father,  consequently  my  brother,  born  at 
Hamburg,  and  recognized  during  the  emigration.  Of 
course,  he  wished  to  leave  his  fortune  to  his  own  family. 
This  is  the  story  which  you  must  tell  Madame  Fauvel  to- 
morrow." 

"  That  is  a  bold  step  to  take." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Inquiries  might  be  made." 

"•Who  would  make  them  ?  The  banker  would  not  troub- 
le himself  to  do  so.  What  difference  is  it  to  him  whether 
I  had  a  brother  or  not  ?  My  title  as  heir  is  legally  authen- 
ticated ;  and  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  pay  the  money  he  holds, 
and  there  his  business  ends." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  his  giving  trouble." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  will 
ask  any  questions  ?  Why  should  they  ?  They  have  no 
grounds  for  suspicion.  Besides,  they  cannot  take  a  step 
without  compromising  themselves.  If  they  knew  all  our 
secrets,  I  would  not  have  the  least  fear  of  their  making 


286  FILE  NO.  113. 

revelations.  They  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  they 
had  best  keep  quiet." 

Not  finding  any  other  objections  to  make,  Raoul  said  : 
"Very  well,  then,  I  will  obey  you  ;  but  I  am  not  to  call 
upon  Madame  Fauvel  for  any  more  money,  am  I .? " 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because,  my  uncle,  you  are  rich  now." 

"  Suppose  I  am  rich,"  replied  Louis  triumphantly ; 
"  what  does  that  matter  ?  Have  we  not  pretended  to  have 
quarrelled,  and  have  you  not  abused  me  sufhciently  to 
justify  you  in  refusing  my  assistance  ?  Ah  !  1  foresaw 
everything,  and  when  I  explain  my  present  plan,  you  will 
say  with  me,  '  Success  is  certain.'"  Louis  de  Clameran's 
scheme  was  very  simple,  and  therefore,  unfortunately,  pre- 
sented the  strongest  chances  of  success.  "  We  will  go 
back,  and  look  at  our  balance-sheet.  As  heretofore,  my 
brilliant  nephew,  you  seem  to  have  misunderstood  my 
management  of  this  affair,  I  will  now  explain  it  to  you." 

"  I  am  listening." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  presented  myself  to  Madame  Fau- 
vel, and  said,  not '  Your  money  or  your  life,'  but  '  Your 
money  or  your  reputation  ! '  It  was  a  rude  blow  to  strike, 
but  effective.  As  I  expected,  she  was  frightened,  and  re- 
garded me  with  the  greatest  aversion." 

"  Aversion  is  a  mild  term,  uncle." 

"  I  know  that.  Then  I  brought  you  upon  the  scenCj 
and,  without  flattering  you  in  the  least,  I  must  say  that 
your  opening  act  was  a  perfect  success.  I  was  concealed 
behind  the  curtain,  and  saw  your  first  interview  ;  it  was 
sublime  !  She  saw  you,  and  loved  you;  you  spoke  a  few 
words,  and  won  her  heart." 

"  And  but  for  you — " 

"  Let  me  finish.  This  was  the  first  act  of  our  comedy. 
Let  us  pass  to  the  second.  Your  extravagant  follies — 
your  grandfather  would  have  said  your  dissoluteness — 
soon  changed  our  respective  situations.  Madame  Fauvel, 
without  ceasing  to  worship  you — you  resemble  Gaston  so 
closely — was  frightened  of  you.  She  was  so  frightened 
that  she  was  forced  to  come  to  me  for  assistance." 

"  Poor  woman  !  " 

"  I  acted  my  part  very  well,  as  you  must  confess.  I 
was  grave,  cold,  indignant,  and  represented  the  distressed 
uncle  to  perfection,     I  spoke  of  the  old  probity  of  the  D? 


FILE  NO.  113.  287 

Clamerans,  and  bemoaned  that  the  family  honor  should  be 
dragged  in  the  dust  by  a  degenerate  descendant.  For  a 
short  time  I  triumphed  at  your  expense.  Madame  Fauvel 
forgot  her  former  prejudice  against  me,  and  soon  showed 
that  she  esteemed  and  Uked  me." 

"  That  was  a  long  time  ago." 

Louis  paid  no  attention  to  this  ironical  interruption. 
"  Now  we  come  to  the  third  act,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "the 
time  when  Madame  Fauvel,  having  Madeleine  for  an  ad- 
viser, nearly  judged  us  at  our  true  value.  Oh  !  you  need 
not  flatter  yourself  that  she  did  not  fear  and  despise  us 
both.  If  she  did  not  hate  you,  Raoul,  it  was  because  a 
mother's  heart  always  forgives  a  sinful  child.  A  mother 
can  despise  and  worship  her  son  at  the  same  time." 

"  She  has  proved  it  to  me  in  so  many  touching  ways, 
that  I — yes,  even  I,  hardened  as  I  am — was  moved,  and 
felt  remorse." 

"  No  doubt.  I  have  felt  some  pangs  myself.  Where 
did  I  leave  off .''  Oh,  yes !  Madame  Fauvel  was  fright- 
ened, and  Madeleine,  bent  on  sacrificing  herself,  had  dis- 
carded Prosper,  and  consented  to  marry  me,  when  Gaston's 
existence  was  suddenly  revealed  to  us.  And  what  has 
happened  since  ?  You  have  succeeded  in  convincing 
Madame  Fauvel  that  you  are  purer  than  an  angel,  and 
that  I  am  blacker  than  hell.  She  is  blinded  by  your  noble 
qualities,  and  she  and  Madeleine  regard  me  as  your  evil 
genius,  whose  pernicious  influence  led  you  astray." 

"  You  are  right,  my  venerated  uncle ;  that  is  precisely 
the  position  you  occupy." 

*  Very  good.  Now  we  come  to  the  fifth  act,  and  our 
comedy  needs  entire  change  of  scenerv.  We  must  veer 
around." 

"  Change  our  tactics  ?  " 

*'  You  think  it  difficult,  I  suppose  ?  Nothing  easier. 
Listen  attentively,  for  the  future  depends  upon  your  skil- 
fulness." 

Raoul  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  folded  arms,  as  if 
prepared  for  anything,  and  said  :  "  I  am  ready." 

"  The  first  thing  for  you  to  do,"  said  Louis,  "  is  to  go  to 
Madame  Fauvel  to-morrow,  and  tell  her  the  story  about 
my  natural  brother.  She  will  not  believe  you,  but  that 
makes  no  difference.  The  iinportant  thing  is  for  you  to 
appear  convinced  of  the  truth  of  what  you  tell  her," 


2§8  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Consider  me  convinced,'* 

"  Five  days  hence,  I  will  call  on  M.  Fauvel,  and  con* 
firm  the  notification  sent  him  by  my  notary  at  Oloron,  that 
the  money  deposited  in  the  bank  now  belongs  to  me.  I 
will  repeat,  for  his  benefit,  the  story  of  the  natural  brother, 
and  ask  him  to  keep  the  money  for  me,  as  I  have  no  oc- 
casion for  it  at  present.  You,  who  are  so  distrustful,  my 
good  nephew,  may  regard  this  deposit  as  a  guarantee  of 
my  sincerity." 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  another  time.     Go  on." 

"  Thfcn  I  will  go  to  Madame  Fauvel,  and  say,  *  Being 
very  poor,  my  dear  madame,  necessity  compelled  me  to 
claim  your  assistance  in  the  support  of  my  brother's  son, 
who  is  also  yours.  This  youth  is  worthless  and  extrava- 
gant." ' 

"Thanks,  my  good  uncle.'' 

"  He  has  poisoned  your  life  when  he  should  have  added 
to  your  happiness  ;  he  is  a  constant  anxiety  and  sorrow  to 
your  maternal  heart.  I  have  come  to  offer  my  regrets 
for  your  past  trouble,  and  to  assure  you  that  you  will  have 
no  annoyance  in  the  future.  I  am  now  rich,  and  hence- 
forth take  the  whole  responsibility  of  Raoul  upon  my- 
self." 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  a  scheme  ? '' 

"  Wait,  you  will  soon  see  whether  it  is.  After  listening 
to  this  speech,  Madame  Fauvel  will  feel  inclined  to  throw 
herself  in  my  arms,  by  way  of  expressing  her  gratitude  and 
joy.  She  will  refrain,  however,  on  account  of  her  niece. 
She  will  ask  me  to  relinquish  my  claim  on  Madeleine's 
hand,  now  that  I  am  rich.  I  will  roundly  tell  her,  'No.' 
I  will  make  this  an  opportunity  for  an  edifying  display  of 
magnanimity  and  disinterestedness.  I  will  say,  *  Madame 
you  have  accused  me  of  cupidity.  I  am  now  able  to  prove 
your  injustice.  I  have  been  infatuated,  as  every  man 
must  be,  by  the  beauty,  grace,  and  intelligence  of  Made- 
moiselle Madeleine  ;  and — I  love  her.  If  she  were  penni- 
less, my  devotion  would  only  be  the  more  ardent.  She 
has  been  promised  to  me,  and  I  must  insist  upon  this  one 
article  of  our  agreement.  This  must  be  the  price  of  my 
silence.  And,  to  prove  that  I  am  not  influenced  by  her 
fortune,  I  give  you  my  sacred  promise  that  the  day  after 
the  wedding  I  wi^l  send  Raoul  sufficient  to  secure  him  an 
income  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs  per  annum." 


FILE  NO.  113.  2Sq 

Louis  expressed  himself  with  such  convincing  candor, 
that  Raoul,  an  artist  in  knavery,  was  charmed  and  aston- 
ished. "  Beautifully  done,"  he  cried,  clapping  his  hands 
with  glee.  "  That  last  sentence  may  create  a  chasm  be- 
tween Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece.  The  promise  of  a 
fortune  for  me  will  most  likely  bring  my  mother  over  to 
our  side." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Louis  with  pretended  modesty.  "  And 
I  have  strong  reasons  for  hoping  so,  as  I  shall  be  able  to 
furnish  the  good  lady  with  excellent  arguments  for  excus- 
ing herself  in  her  own  eyes.  You  know  when  some  one 
proposes  some  little — what  shall  we  call  it  ? — transaction 
to  an  honest  person,  it  must  be  accompanied  by  justifica- 
tions sufficient  to  quiet  all  qualms  of  conscience.  I  shall 
prove  to  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  that  Prosper  has 
shamefully  deceived  them.  I  shall  prove  to  them  that  he 
is  cramped  by  debts,  dissipated,  and  a  reckless  gambler, 
openly  associating  with  a  woman  of  no  character." 

"  And  very  pretty,  besides,  by  Jove  !  You  must  not 
neglect  to  expatiate  upon  the  beauty  and  fascinations 
of  the  adorable  Gipsy ;  that  will  be  your  strongest 
point." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed ;  I  shall  be  more  eloquent  than  a 
popular  divme.  Then  I  will  explain  to  Madame  Fauvel 
that  if  she  really  loves  her  niece,  she  will  persuade  her  to 
marry,  not  an  insignificant  cashier,  but  a  man  of  position, 
a  great  manufacturer,  a  marquis,  and,  more  than  this,  one 
rich  enough  to  establish  you  in  the  world." 

Raoul  was  dazzled  by  this  brilliant  prospect.  "  If  you 
don't  decide  her,  you  will  at  least  make  her  waver,''  he 
said. 

"Oh  !  I  don't  expect  a  sudden  change.  I  only  intend 
planting  the  germ  in  her  mind  ;  thanks  to  you,  it  will  de- 
velop, flourish,  and  bear  fruit." 

"Thanks  to  me?" 

"  Allow  me  to  finish.  After  makitig  my  speeches  I  shall 
disappear  from  the  scene,  and  your  role  will  commence. 
Of  course  your  mother  will  repeat  the  conversation  to  you, 
and  then  we  can  judge  of  the  effect  produced.  But  re- 
member, you  must  scorn  to  receive  any  assistance  from  me. 
You  must  swear  that  you  will  brave  all  privations,  want, 
famine  even,  rather  than  accept  anything  from  a  base  man 
whom  you  hate  and  despise  •,  a  man  who —  But  you 
19 


200  FILE  NO-  iiy 

know  exactly  what  you  are  to  say.     I  can  rely  upon  you 
for  good  acting." 

"  No  one  can  surpass  me  when  I  am  interested  in  my 
part.  In  pathetic  roles  I  am  always  a  success,  when  I 
have  had  time  to  prepare  myself." 

"  I  know  you  are.  But  this  disinterestedness  need  not 
prevent  you  from  resuming  your  dissipations.  You  must 
gamble,  bet,  and  lose  more  money  than  you  ever  did  before. 
You  Twust  increase  your  demands,  and  say  that  you  must 
have  money  at  all  costs.  You  need  not  account  to  me  for 
any  ^oney  you  can  extort  from  her.  All  you  get  is  your 
owr  to  spend  as  you  please." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !     If  you  mean  that — " 

"  You  will  expedite  matters,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  I  can  promise  you,  no  time  shall  be  wasted." 

"  Now  listen  to  what  you  are  to  do,  Raoul.  Before 
the  end  of  three  months,  you  must  have  exhausted  the  re- 
sources of  these  two  women.  You  must  force  from  them 
every  franc  they  can  raise,  so  that  they  will  be  wholly  un- 
able to  procure  money  to  supply  your  increasing  demands. 
In  three  months,  I  must  find  them  penniless,  absolutely 
ruined,  without  even  a  jewel  left." 

Raoul  was  startled  at  the  passionate,  vindictive  tone  of 
Louis's  voice  as  he  uttered  these  last  words.  "  You  must 
hate  these  women,  if  you  are  so  determined  to  make  them 
miserable,"  he  said. 

"  J  hate  them  ?"  cried  Louis.  "Can't  you  see  that  I 
madly  love  Madeleine,  love  her  as  only  a  man  of  my  age 
can  love  ?  Is  not  her  image  ever  in  my  mind  .''  Does  not 
the  very  thought  of  her  fire  my  heart,  and  her  name  burn 
my  lips  when  I  pronounce  it.-*  " 

"Your  great  devotion  does  not  prevent  you  planning  the 
destruction  of  her  present  happiness." 

*'  Necessity  compels  me  to  do  so.  Nothingbut  the  most 
cruel  deceptions  and  the  bitterest  suffering  would  ever  in- 
duce her  to  become  my  wife.  The  day  on  which  you  have 
led  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  to  the  extreme  edge  of 
the  precipice,  pointed  out  its  dark  depths,  and  convinced 
them  that  they  are  irretrievably  lost,  I  shall  appear,  and 
rescue  them.  Why,  it  wall  be  the  crowning  scene  of  our 
drama.  I  will  play  my  part  with  such  grandeur,  such  lofty 
magnanimity,  that  Madeleine  will  be  touched.  When  she 
finds  that  it  is  her  sweet  self,  and  not  her  money,  that  I 


FCLE  NO.  113.  2g\ 

want,  she  will  soften,  and  no  longer  despise  me.  No  true 
woman  can  be  indifferent  to  agrand  passion.  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  say  that  she  will  love,  but  she  wdll  give  herself  to 
me  without  repugnance  ;  that  is  all  I  ask  for." 

Raoul  was  shocked  at  the  cold-blooded  perversity  of  his 
uncle  ;  but  De  Clameran  showed  his  immense  superiority 
in  wickedness,  and  the  apprentice  admired  the  master, 
"  You  would  certainly  succeed,  uncle,"  he  said,  "  were  it 
not  for  the  cashier.  Between  you  and  Madeleine,  Prosper 
will  always  stand  ;  if  not  in  person,  certainly  in  memory." 

Louis  smiled  scornfully,  and,  throwing  away  his  cigar 
which  had  gone  out.,  said  :  "  I  don't  mind  Prosper,  or  at- 
tach any  more  importance  to  him  than  to  that  cigar." 

"  But  she  loves  him." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  him.  Six  months  hence,  sh8 
will  despise  him  ;  he  is  already  morally  ruined,  and  at  the 
proper  tmie  I  will  make  an  end  of  him  socially.  Do  you 
know  whither  the  road  of  dissipation  leads,  my  good 
nephew  .''  Prosper  supports  Gipsy,  who  is  extravagant ;  he 
gambles,  keeps  fast  horses,  and  gives  suppers.  Sooner  or 
later  he  will  have  a  night  of  bad  luck ;  the  losses  at  bac- 
carat must  be  paid  within  twenty-four  hours,  he  w'ill  wish 
to  pay,  and  he — has  charge  of  the  banker's  safe." 

Raoul  protested  against  this  insinuation. 

"  It  is  useless  to  tell  me  that  he  is  honest.  I  daresav  he 
IS.  I  was  honest  myself  until  I  learned  to  gamble.  A 
scamp  would  have  married  Madeleine  long  ago,  and  sent 
us  flying,  bag  and  baggage.  You  say  she  loves  him  ?  No 
one  but  a  coward  would  be  defrauded  of  the  woman  he 
loved  and  who  loved  him.  Ah,  if  I  had  once  felt  Made- 
leine's hand  tremble  m  mine,  if  her  rosy  lips  had  once 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  my  brow,  the  whole  world  could  not 
take  her  from  me.  Woe  to  him  who  dares  stand  ni  my 
path !  As  it  is,  Prosper  annoys  me,  and  I  intend  to  sup- 
press him.  With  your  aid  I  will  so  cover  him  with  dis« 
grace  and  infamy,  that  Madeleine 'will  drive  every  thought 
of  him  from  her  mind." 

Louis's  tone  of  rage  and  vengeance  startled  Raoul, 
and  made  him  regard  the  affair  in  a  worse  light  than  ever, 
"  You  have  given  me  a  shameful,  dastardly  role  to  play," 
he  said  after  a  long  pause. 

"  My  honorable  nephew  has  scruples,  I  suppose," 
sneered  De  Clameran. 


292  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Not  exactly  scruples  ;  yet  I  confess — " 

"  That  you  want  to  retreat  ?  Rather  too  late  to  sing 
that  tune,  my  friend.  You  wish  to  enjoy  ever  luxury, 
have  your  pockets  filled  with  gold,  cut  a  line  figure  in  high 
society,  and  remain  virtuous.  You  should  have  been  born 
with  a  golden  spoon  in  your  mouth  then.  Fool !  have 
you  ever  seen  men  like  us  draw  millions  from  the  pure 
fount  of  virtue.  We  must  fish  in  muddy  waters,  and 
cleanse  ourselves  afterwards." 

"  I  have  never  been  rich  enough  to  be  honest,"  said 
Raoul  humbly  ;  "  but  I  must  say  it  goes  hard  with  me  to 
torture  two  defenceless,  frightened  women,  and  ruin  the 
character  of  a  poor  devil  who  regards  me  as  his  best  friend. 
It  is  a  low  business  !  " 

This  resistance  exasperated  Louis  to  the  last  degree. 
"  You  are  the  most  absurd,  ridiculous  fool  I  ever  met," 
he  cried.  *'  An  opportunity  occurs  for  us  to  make  an 
immense  fortune.  AH  we  have  to  do  is  to  stretch  out  our 
hands  and  take  it ;  when  you  must  needs  prove  refractory, 
like  a  whimpering  baby.  Nobody  but  an  ass  would  refuse 
to  drink  when  he  is  thirsty,  because  he  sees  a  little  mud 
at  the  bottom  of  the  bucket.  I  suppose  you  prefer  theft 
on  a  small  scale.  And  where  will  your  system  lead  you .? 
To  the  poor-house  or  the  police-station.  You  prefer  living 
from  hand  to  mouth,  supported  by  Madame  Fauvel,  hav- 
ing small  sums  doled  out  to  you  to  pay  your  little  gambling 
debts." 

"  I  am  neither  ambitious  nor  cruel." 

"  And  suppose  Madame  Fauvel  dies  to-morrow ;  what 
will  become  of  you  r  Will  you  go  cringing  up  to  the  wid- 
ower, and  implore  him  to  contmue  your  allowance  ?  " 

"  Enough  said,"  cried  Raoul,  angrily  interrupting  his 
uncle.  "  I  never  had  any  idea  of  retreating.  I  made 
these  objections  to  show  you  what  infamous  work  you  ex- 
pect of  me,  and,  at  the  same  time,  prove  to  you  that  with- 
out my  assistance  you  can  do  nothing." 

"  I  never  pretended  otherwise." 

"  Then,  my  noble  uncle,  we  might  as  well  settle  what 
my  share  is  to  be.  Oh !  it  is  not  worth  while  for  you  to 
indulge  in  idle  protestations.  What  will  you  give  me  in 
case  of  success  ?  and  what  if  we  fail  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  before.     I  will  give  you  twenty-five  thou- 


PILE  NO,  113.  293 

sand  francs  a  year,  and  all  you  can  secure  between  now 
and  my  wedding-day." 

"  This  arrangement  suits  me  very  well ;  but  where  are 
your  securities  ?  " 

This  question  was  discussed  a  long  time,  without  being 
satisfactorily  settled  by  the  accomplices,  who  had  every 
reason  to  distrust  each  other. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  t  "  asked  De  Clameran. 

"  Everything,"  replied  Raoul.  "  Where  am  I  to  obtain 
justice,  if  you  deceive  me  .'*  From  this  pretty  little  poniard  ? 
No,  thank  you.  I  would  be  made  to  pay  as  dear  for  your 
hide,  as  for  that  of  an  honest  man." 

Finally,  after  a  long  debate  and  much  recrimination, 
the  matter  was  arranged,  and  they  shook  hands  before 
separating.  Alas  !  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece  soon 
felt  the  evil  effects  of  the  understanding  between  the  vil- 
lains. Everything  happened  as  Louis  had  arranged. 
Once  more,  when  Madame  Fauvel  had  begun  to  breathe 
freely,  and  to  hope  that  her  troubles  were  over,  Raoul's 
conduct  suddenly  changed ;  he  became  more  extravagant 
and  dissipated  than  ever.  Formerly,  Madame  Fauvel 
would  have  said,  "  I  wonder  what  he  does  with  all  the 
money  I  give  him  ? "  Now,  she  saw  where  it  went. 
Raoul  was  reckless  in  his  wickedness  ;  he  was  intimate 
with  actresses,  openly  lavishing  money  and  jewellery  upon 
them  ;  he  drove  about  with  four  horses,  and  bet  heav- 
ily on  every  race.  Never  had  he  been  so  exacting  and 
exorbitant  in  his  demands  for  money ;  Madame  Fauvel 
had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  supplying  his  wants.  He 
no  longer  made  excuses  and  apologies  for  spending  so 
much ;  instead  of  coaxingly  entreating,  he  demanded 
money  as  a  right,  threatening  to  betray  Madame  Fauvel 
to  her  husband  if  she  refused  him.  At  this  rate,  all  that 
she  and  Madeleine  possessed  soon  disappeared.  In  one 
month,  all  their  money  had  been  squandered.  Then  they 
were  compelled  to  resort  to  the  most  shameful  expedients 
in  the  household  expenses.  They  economized  in  every 
possible  way,  making  purchases  on  credit,  and  making 
tradesman  wait;  then  they  changed  figures  in  the  bills, 
and  even  invented  accounts  of  things  never  bought. 
These  imaginary  costly  whims  increased  so  rapidly,  that 
M.  Fauvel  one  day  said,  with  a  smile,  "  You  are  becoming 
very  coquettish,  my  dears."     Poor  women  !     For  months 


294  P^LE  NO.  113 

they  had  bought  nothing,  but  had  lived  upon  the  remains 
of  their  former  splendor,  having  all  their  old  dresses  al- 
tered to  keep  up  appearances  in  society.  More  clear- 
sighted than  her  aunt,  Madeleine  saw  j^lainly  that  the  day 
would  soon  come  when  everything  would  be  discovered. 
Although  she  knew  that  the  sacrifices  of  the  present  would 
avail  nothing  in  the  future,  she  was  silent.  A  high-minded 
delicacy  made  her  conceal  her  apprehensions  beneath  an 
assumed  calmness.  The  fact  of  her  sacrificing  herself 
made  her  refrain  from  uttering  anything  like  a  com- 
plaint or  censure.  "As  soon  as  Raoul  sees  we  have  noth- 
ing more  to  give,"  she  would  say  to  her  aunt,  "  he  will 
come  to  his  senses,  and  stop  all  this  extravagance."  The 
day  came,  however,  when  Madame  Fauvel  and  Madeleine 
found  it  impossible  to  give  another  franc.  The  previous 
evening,  there  had  been  a  dinner-party,  and  they,  with 
difficulty,  scraped  together  enough  mone}^  to  defray  the 
expenses.  Raoul  appeared,  and  said  that  he  was  in  the 
greatest  need  of  money,  being  forced  to  pay  a  debt  of  two 
thousand  francs  at  once.  In  vain  they  implored  him  to 
wait  a  few  days,  until  they  could,  with  propriety,  ask  M. 
Fauvel  for  money. 

"  But  I  have  no  way  of  getting  it  for  you,"  said  Madame 
Fauvel,  desperately  ;  "  you  have  taken  everything  from 
me.  I  have  nothing  left  but  my  diamonds  :  do  you  want 
them  ?     If  they  can  be  of  use,  take  them." 

Harc^ened  as  the  young  villain  was,  he  blushed  at  these 
words.  He  felt  pity  for  this  unfortunate  woman,  who  had 
always  been  so  kind  and  indulgent  to  him — who  had  so 
often  Uvished  upon  him  her  maternal  caresses.  He  felt 
for  the  noble  girl,  who  was  the  innocent  victim  of  a  vile 
plot.  But  he  was  bound  by  his  promise ;  he  knew  that 
a  powerful  hand  would  save  these  women  at  the  brink  of 
the  precipice.  More  than  this,  he  saw  an  immense  fortune 
at  the  end  of  his  road  of  crime,  and  quieted  his  conscience 
by  saying  that  he  would  redeem  his  present  cruelty  by 
honest  kindness  in  the  future.  Stifling  his  better  impulses, 
he  said  harshly  to  Madame  Fauvel  :  "  Give  me  the  jew- 
els ;  I  will  take  them  to  the  pawnbroker's."  She  handed 
him  a  box  containing  a  set  of  diamonds.  It  was  a  present 
from  her  husband  the  day  he  became  worth  a  million. 
And  so  pressing  was  the  want  of  these  women  who  were 
surrounded  by  princely  luxury,  with  their  ten  servants, 


FI^.J^  NO.  T13.  295 

beautiful  horses,  and  jewels  which  were  the  admiration  of 
Paris,  that  they  im:Dlored  him  to  bring  them  some  of  the 
money  which  he  would  procure  on  the  diamonds.  He 
promised,  and  kept  his  word.  But  they  had  revealed  a 
new  source — a  mine  to  be  worked ;  he  took  advantage  oi 
it.  One  by  one  all  Madame  Fauvel's  jewels  followed  the 
way  of  the  diamonds  ;  and,  when  hers  were  all  gone,  those 
belonging  to  Madeleine  were  given  up.  Madame  Fauvel 
had  no  defence  against  the  scoundrels  who  were  torturing 
her,  save  prayers  and  tears ;  these  availed  her  little. 
Sometimes,  though,  she  betrayed  such  heart-broken  suffer- 
ing when  Raoul  begged  her  for  money  which  she  had  no 
means  of  obtaining,  that  he  would  hurry  away  disgusted  at 
his  own  brutal  conduct,  and  say  to  De  Clameran,  "  You 
must  end  this  dirty  business ;  I  cannot  stand  it  any 
longer.  Let  us  steal  with  both  hands  as  much  as  you  like  ; 
but  as  to  killing  by  agony  and  fright,  these  two  poor  mis- 
erable women,  wdiom  I  am  really  fond  of,  I  am  not  going 
to  do  it.'' 

De  Clameran  showed  no  surprise  at  these  remonstrances. 
"  It  is  not  pleasant,  I  know,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  necessity 
knows  no  law.  Have  a  little  more  perseverance  and 
patience ;  we  have  almost  got  to  the  end." 

The  end  was  nearer  than  De  Clameran  supposed. 
Towards  the  latter  part  of  November,  Madame  Fauvel 
saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  postpone  the  catastrophe  any 
longer,  and  as  a  last  effort  determined  to  apply  to  the 
marquis  for  assistance.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  his 
return  from  Oloron,  except  once,  when  he  came  to  an- 
nounce his  accession  to  wealth.  At  that  time,  persuaded 
that  he  was  Raoul 's  evil  genius,  she  had  received  him 
very  coldly,  and  did  not  invite  him  to  repeat  his  visit. 
She  hesitated  before  speaking  to  her  niece  of  the  step  she 
intended  taking,  because  she  feared  violent  opposition. 
To  her  great  surprise  Madeleine  warmly  approved  of  it. 
Trouble  had  made  her  keen-sighted  and  suspicious.  Re- 
flecting on  past  events,  comparing  and  weighing  ever}'  act 
and  speech  of  Raoul,  she  was  now  convinced  that  he  was 
De  Clameran's  tool.  She  thought  that  Raoul  was  too 
shrewd  to  be  acting  in  this  shameful  way,  ruinously  to  his 
own  interests,  if  there  were  not  some  secret  motive  at  the 
bottom  of  it  all.  She  saw  that  this  persecution  was  more 
feigned  than  real.     So  thoroughly  was  she  convinced  of 


296  FILE  NO.  113. 

this,  that,  had  it  only  concerned  herself  alone,  she  would 
have  firmly  resisted  the  oppression,  confident  that  the 
threatened  exposure  would  never  take  place.  Recalling, 
with  a  shudder,  certain  looks  of  De  Clameran,  she  guessed 
the  truth,  that  the  object  of  all  this  underhand  work  was 
to  force  her  to  become  his  wife.  Determined  on  making 
the  sacrifice,  in  spite  of  her  repugnance  towards  the  man, 
she  wished  to  have  the  deed  done  at  once :  anything  was 
preferable  to  the  intolerable  existence  which  Raoul  made 
her  lead.  She  felt  that  her  courage  might  fail  if  she 
waited  and  suffered  much  longer. 

"  The  sooner  you  see  M.  de  Clameran  the  better  for  us, 
aunt,"  she  said,  after  talking  the  project  over. 

The  next  day  Madame  Fauvel  called  on  the  marquis  at 
the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  having  sent  him  a  note  announcing 
her  intended  visit.  He  received  her  with  cold,  studied 
politeness,  like  a  man  who  had  been  misunderstood  and 
had  been  unjustly  wounded.  After  listening  to  her  report 
of  Raoul's  scandalous  behavior,  he  became  very  indig- 
nant, and  swore  that  he  would  soon  make  him  repent  of 
his  heartlessness.  But,  when  Madame  Fauvel  told  him 
that  Raoul  applied  to  her  because  he  would  take  nothing 
from  his  uncle,  De  Clameran  seemed  confounded. 

"  The  worthless  rascal !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  idea  of 
his  audacity.  Why,  during  the  last  four  months,  I  have 
given  him  more  than  twenty  thousand  francs,  which  I 
would  not  have  done  except  to  prevent  him  from  apply- 
ing to  you,  as  he  constantly  threatened  to  do." 

Seeing  an  expression  of  doubt  upon  Madame  Fauvel's 
face,  Louis  arose  and  took  from  a  desk  some  receipts 
signed  by  Raoul,  which  he  showed  her.  The  total 
amount  was  twenty-three  thousand  five  hundred  francs. 
Madame  Fauvel  was  shocked  and  amazed. 

"  He  has  obtained  about  forty  thousand  francs  from 
me,"  she  faintly  said,  "  50  that  altogether  he  has  spent 
at  least  sixty  thousand  francs  in  four  months." 

"  I  can't  imagine  what  he  does  with  it,"  said  De  Cla. 
meran,  "  unless  he  spends  it  on  actresses." 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  can  those  creatures  do  with  all 
the  money  lavished  on  them  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  thing  one  never  knows." 

He  appeared  to  pity  Madame  Fauvel  sincerely  ;  he 
promised  that  he  would  at  once  see  Raoul,  and  make  hira 


FILE  NO.  113.  297 

alter  his  behavior.  Finally,  after  many  protestations  of 
friendship,  he  wound  up  by  placing  his  fortune  at  her  dis- 
posal. Although  Madame  Fauvel  refused  his  offer,  she 
appreciated  the  kindness  of  it,  and  on  returning  home 
said  to  Madeleine,  "  Perhaps  we  have  mistaken  his  char- 
acter ;  he  may  be  a  good  man  after  all."  Madeleine  sadly 
shook  her  head.  She  had  anticipated  just  what  happened. 
De  Clameran's  magnanimity  and  generosity  confirmed 
her  presentiments. 

Raoul  called  on  his  uncle,  and  found  him  radiant. 
"  Everything  is  going  on  swimmingl}'',  my  smart  nephew," 
said  the  marquis  ;  "  your  receipts  act  like  a  charm.  Ah, 
you  are  a  partner  worth  having.  I  congratulate  you  upon 
your  success.     Forty  thousand  francs  in  four  months  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Raoul  carelessly.  "  I  got  about  that  much 
from  her  and  the  pawnbrokers." 

"  Hang  it !  Then  you  must  have  a  nice  little  sum  laid 
by  ;  for  the  young  lady,  I  presume,  is  a  myth." 

"  That  is  my  business,  uncle.  Remember  our  agree- 
ment. I  can  tell  you  this  much ;  Madame  Fauvel  and 
Madeleine  have  turned  everything  they  can  into  money  ; 
they  have  nothing  left,  and  I  have  had  enough  of  my 
role." 

"  Your  role  is  ended.  I  forbid  you  to  hereafter  ask  for 
a  single  centime." 

"  What  are  you  about  to  do  t     What  has  happened  1  " 

"  The  mine  is  loaded,  nephew,  and  I  am  only  awaiting 
an  opportunity  to  set  fire  to  it." 

Louis  de  Clameran  relied  upon  making  his  rival,  Pros- 
per Bertomy,  furnish  him  with  this  ardently  desired  oppor- 
tunity. He  loved  Madeleine  too  passionately  to  feel 
aught  sav'e  the  bitterest  hate  towards  the  man  whom  she 
had  freely  chosen,  and  who  still  possessed  her  heart.  De 
Clameran  knew  that  he  could  marry  her  at  once  if  he  chose ; 
but  in  what  way  ?  By  holding  a  sword  of  terror  over  her 
head,  and  forcing  her  to  be  his.  He  became  frenzied  at 
the  idea  of  possessing  her  person,  while  her  heart  and 
soul  would  always  be  with  Prosper.  Thus  he  swore  that, 
before  marrying,  he  would  so  cover  Prosper  with  shame 
and  ignominy  that  no  honest  person  would  speak  to  him. 
He  had  at  first  tliought  of  killing  him,  but  he  preferred  to 
disgrace  him.  He  imagined  that  there  would  be  no  difficul- 
ty in  ruining  the  unfortunate  young  man,     He  sooa  found 


298  FILE  NO.  113. 

himself  mistaken.  Though  Prosper  led  a  life  of  reckless 
dissipation,  he  preserved  order  in  his  disorder.  If  in  a 
state  of  miserable  entanglement,  and  obliged  to  resort  to 
all  sorts  of  make-shifts  to  escape  his  creditors,  his  caution 
prevented  the  world  from  knowing  it.  Vainly  did  Raoul, 
with  his  pockets  full  of  gold,  tempt  him  to  play  high  ; 
every  effort  to  hasten  his  ruin  failed.  When  he  played  he 
lici  not  seem  to  care  whether  he  lost  or  won  ;  nothing 
?iroused  him  from  his  cold  indifference.  His  mistress. 
Nina  Gipsy,  was  extravagant,  but  her  devotion  to  Prosper ' 
restrained  her  from  going  beyond  certain  limits.  Raoul's 
great  intimacy  with  Prosper  enabled  him  to  fully  under- 
stand the  state  of  his  mind  ;  that  he  was  trying  to  drown 
his  disappointment  in  excitement,  but  had  not  given  up 
all  hope. 

"  You  need  not  hope  to  beguile  Prosper  into  committing 
any  serious  piece  of  folly,"  said  Raoul  to  his  uncle;  "his 
head  is  as  cool  as  an  usurer's.  What  object  he  has  in 
view  I  know  not.  Perhaps  when  he  has  spent  his  last  coin 
he  will  blow  his  brains  out ;  he  certainly  never  will  de- 
scend to  any  dishonorable  act ;  he  will  never  have  recourse 
to  the  money  in  the  banker's  safe." 

"  We  must  urge  him  on,"  replied  De  Clameran  ;  "lead 
liim  into  more  extravagances ;  make  Gipsy  call  on  him  for 
costly  finery,  lend  him  plenty  of  money." 

Raoul  shook  his  head,  as  if  convinced  that  his  efforts 
Would  be  in  vain.  "  You  don't  know  Prosper,  uncle  :  we 
can't  galvanize  a  dead  man.  Madeleine  killed  him  the 
day  she  discarded  him.  He  takes  no  interest  in  anything 
on  the  face  of  the  earth." 
'*  We  can  wait." 

They  did  wait ;  and,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Madame 
Fauvel,  Raoul  once  more  became  an  affectionate  and  duti- 
ful son,  as  he  had  been  during  De  Clameran's  absence. 
From  reckless  extravagance  he  changed  to  great  economy. 
Under  pretext  of  saving  money,  he  remained  at  Ve'sinet, 
although  it  was  very  uncomfortable  and  disagreeable  there 
in  the  winter.  He  wished,  he  said,  to  expiate  his  sins  in 
solitude.  The  truth  was,  that,  by  remaining  in  the  coun- 
try, he  insured  his  liberty,  and  escaped  his  mother's  visits. 
It  was  about  this  time  that  Madame  Fauvel,  charmed  with 
the  improvement  in  Raoul,  asked  her  husband  to  give  him 
some  employment  in  the  bank.     M.  Fauvel  was  delighted 


FILE  NO.  113.  299 

to  please  his  wife,  and  at  once  offered  Raoul  the  place  of 
corresponding  clerk,  with  a  salary  of  five  hundred  francs 
a  month.  The  appointment  pleased  Raoul ;  but,  in  obedi- 
ence to  De  Clameran's  command,  he  refused  it,  saying,  he 
had  no  taste  for  banking.  This  refusal  so  provoked  the 
banker,  that  he  rather  bitterly  reproached  Raoul,  and  told 
him  not  to  expect  him  to  do  anything  to  assist  him  in 
future.  Raoul  seized  th's  pretext  for  ostensibly  ceasing 
his  visits.  When  he  wanted  to  see  his  mother,  he  would 
come  in  the  afternoon  or  evening,  when  he  knew  that  M. 
Fauvel  would  be  from  home ;  and  he  only  came  often 
enough  to  keep  himself  informed  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  household.  This  sudden  lull  after  so  many  storms 
appeared  ominous  to  Madeleine.  She  was  more  certain 
than  ever  that  the  plot  was  now  ripe,  and  would  suddenly 
burst  upon  them,  without  warning.  She  did  not  impart 
her  presentiment  to  her  aunt,  but  prepared  herself  for  the 
worst. 

"  What  can  they  be  doing  ?  "  Madame  Fauvel  would 
say;  "can  they  have  decided  not  to  persecute  us  any 
more?" 

"  Yes,  what  can  they  be  doing }  '^  Madeleine  would  mur- 
mur. 

Louis  and  Raoul  gave  no  signs  of  life,  because,  like  ex 
pert  hunters,  they  were  silently  hiding,  and  watching  for  a 
favorable  opportunity  of  pouncing  upon  their  victims. 
Never  losing  sight  of  Prosper  for  a  day,  Raoul  had  ex- 
hausted every  effort  of  his  fertile  mind  to  compromise  his 
honor — to  ensnare  him  into  some  inextricable  entangle- 
ment. But,  as  he  had  foreseen,  the  cashier's  indifference 
offered  little  hope  of  success.  De  Clameran  began  to 
grow  impatient  at  this  delay,  and  had  fully  determined  to 
bring  matters  to  a  crisis  himself,  when  one  night,  about 
three  o'clock,  he  was  aroused  by  Raoul.  He  knew  that 
some  event  of  great  importance  must  have  happened,  to 
make  his  nephew  come  to  him  at  that  hour  of  the 
night. 

"  What  is  the  matter  }  "  he  anxiously  inquired. 

"  Perhaps  nothing ;  perhaps  everything.  I  have  just 
left  Prosper." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  I  had  him.  Madame  Gipsy,  and  three  other  friends  to 
dine  with  me.    After  dinner,  I  m;ide  up  a  game  of  baccarat. 


300  FILE  NO.  113. 

but  Prosper  took  no  interest  in  it,  although  he  was  quite 
tipsy." 

"  You  must  be  drunk  yourself,  to  come  here  waking  me 
up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  hear  this  idle  gabble," 
said  Louis,  angrily. 

"  Now,  wait  until  you  hear  the  rest." 

"  Zounds !  speak  then  !  " 

"  After  the  game  was  over,  we  went  to  supper ;  Prosper 
became  quite  intoxicated,  and  betrayed  the  word  with 
which  he  closes  the  money-safe." 

At  these  words,  De  Clameran  uttered  a  cry  of  triumph. 
"  What  was  the  word  ?  " 

*'  His  mistress's  name." 

"  Gipsy !  Yes,  that  would  be  five  letters."  Louis  was 
50  excited  that  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  slipped  on  his  dress- 
ing-gown, and  began  to  stride  up  and  down  the  room. 
*'  Now  we  have  got  him  ! "  he  said,  with  vindictive  satis- 
faction. "  There's  no  chance  of  escape  for  him  now  !  Ah  ! 
the  virtuous  cashier  won't  touch  the  money  confided  to 
him  ;  so  we  must  touch  it  for  him.  His  disgrace  will  be 
just  as  great  no  matter  who  opens  the  safe.  We  have 
the  word ;  you  know  where  the  key  is  kept.'* 

"Yes;  when  M.  Fauvel  goes  out  he  always  leaves  the 
key  in  a  drawer  of  his  secretary,  in  his  bedroom." 

"  Very  good.  You  will  go  and  get  this  key  from  Madame 
Fauvel.  If  she  does  not  give  it  up  willingly,  use  force , 
then,  when  having  got  the  key,  you  will  open  the  safe,  and 
take  out  every  franc  it  contains.  Ah !  Master  Bertomy, 
you  shall  pay  dear  for  being  loved  by  the  woman  I  love  !  " 

For  five  minutes,  De  Clameran  indulged  in  such  a  tirade 
of  abuse  against  Prosper,  mingled  with  rhapsodies  of  love 
for  Madeleine,  that  Raoul  thought  him  almost  out  of  his 
mind,  and  tried  to  calm  him.  "  Before  crying  victory," 
he  said,  "you  had  better  consider  the  drawbacks  and  diffi-, 
culties.     Prosper  might  change  the  word  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  he  might ;  but  it  is  not  probable  he  will.  He 
will  forget  what  he  said  while  drunk ;  besides,  we  will  be 
quiet." 

"  That  is  not  all.  M.  Fauvel  has  given  orders  that  no 
large  sum  shall  be  kept  in  the  safe  over  night ;  before  clos" 
ing  time,  everything  is  sent  to  the  Bank  of  France." 

"  A  large  sum  will  be  kept  there  the  night  I  choose," 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  301 

''  I  think  this  :  I  have  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  de- 
posited with  M.  Fauvel ;  and  if  I  desire  the  money  to  be 
paid  over  to  me  early  some  morning,  directly  the  bank  is 
opened,  of  course  the  money  will  be  kept  in  the  safe  the 
previous  night." 

"  A  splendid  idea  !  "  cried  Raoul,  admiringly. 

It  was  a  good  idea  ;  and  the  plotters  spent  several  hours 
in  studying  its  strong  and  weak  points.  Raoul  feared  that 
ne  would  never  be  able  to  overcome  Madame  Fauvel's  re- 
sistance ;  and,  even  if  she  yielded  the  key,  would  she  not 
go  directly  and  confess  everything  to  her  husband,  rather 
than  sacrifice  an  innocent  man  ?  But  Louis  felt  no  un- 
easiness on  this  score.  "  One  sacrifice  necessitates  an- 
other," he  said  :  "  she  has  made  too  many  to  draw  back  at 
the  last  one.  She  sacrificed  her  adopted  daughter ;  there- 
fore she  will  sacrifice  a  young  man,  who  is,  after  all,  a 
comparative  stranger  to  her." 

"  But  Madeleine  will  never  believe  any  harm  of  Prosper ; 
therefore — " 

"  You  talk  like  an  idiot,  my  verdant  nephew  !  " 

Before  the  conversation  had  ended,  the  plan  seemed 
feasible.  The  scoundrels  made  all  their  arrangements, 
and  fixed  the  day  for  committing  the  crime.  They  se- 
lected the  evening  of  the  27th  of  February,  because  Raoul 
knew  that  M.  Fauvel  would  be  dining  out,  and  Madeleine 
was  invited  to  a  party  on  that  evening.  Unless  something 
unforeseen  should  occur,  Raoul  knew  that  he  would  find 
Madame  Fauvel  alone  at  half-past  eight  o'clock." 

"  I  will  ask  M.  Fauvel  this  very  day,"  said  De  Cla- 
meran,  "  to  have  my  money  ready  for  Tuesday." 

"That  is  a  very  short  notice,  uncle,"  objected  Raoul. 
"  You  know  there  are  certain  forms  to  be  gone  through, 
and  he  can  claim  a  longer  time  wherein  to  pay  it  over." 

"  That  is  true,  but  our  banker  is  proud  of  always  being 
prepared  to  pay  any  amount  of  money,  no  matter  how 
large  ;  and  if  I  say  I  am  pressed,  and  would  like  to  be  ac- 
commodated on  Tuesday,  he  will  make  a  point  of  having 
it  ready  for  me.  Then,  you  must  ask  Prosper,  as  a  per- 
sonal favor  to  you,  to  have  the  money  on  hand  at  the 
opening  of  the  bank." 

Raoul  once  more  examined  the  situation,  to  discover  k 
there  was  not  the  grain  of  sand  which  so  often  becomes  a 
mountain  at  the  Mst  moment.     "  Prosper  and  Gipsy  are  W 


302  FILE  NO.  113. 

be  with  me  at  Vesinet  this  evening,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  can 
not  ask  him  anything  until  I  know  the  banker's  answer. 
As  soon  as  you  have  arranged  matters  with  him,  send  me 
word  by  Manuel." 

"  I  can't  send  Manuel,  for  an  excellent  reason — he  has 
left  me ;  but  I  can  send  another  messenger." 

What  Louis  said  was  true  ;  Manuel  was  gone.  He  had 
insisted  on  keeping  Gaston's  old  servant  in  his  service, 
because  he  thought  it  imprudent  to  leave  him  at  Oloron, 
where  his  gossiping  might  cause  trouble.  He  soon  became 
annoyed  by  Manuel's  loyalty,  and  determined  to  rid  him- 
self  of  him ;  so  he  just  gave  him  the  idea  of  ending  his 
days  in  peace  in  his  own  country.  So,  the  evening  before, 
Manuel  had  started  fOr  Arenys-de-Mar,  a  little  port  of  Cat- 
alonia, his  native  place  ;  and  Louis  was  seeking  another 
servant.  After  breakfasting  together,  Louis  and  Raoul 
separated.  De  Clameran  was  so  elated  by  the  prospect 
of  success  that  he  lost  sight  of  the  great  crime  intervening. 
Raoul  was  calm,  but  resolute.  The  shameful  deed  he  was 
about  to  commit  would  give  him  riches,  and  release  him 
from  a  hateful  servitude.  His  one  thought  was  liberty,  as 
Louis's  was  Madeleine.  Everything  seemed  to  progress 
finely.  The  banker  did  not  ask  for  the  delay  he  was  enti- 
tled to,  but  promised  to  pay  the  money  on  the  day  named. 
Prosper  said  he  would  have  it  ready  early  in  the  morning. 
The  certainty  of  success  made  Louis  almost  wild  with  joy. 
He  counted  the  hours  and  the  minutes. 

"  When  this  affair  is  ended,"  he  said  to  Raoul,  "  I  will 
reform,  and  be  a  model  of  virtue.  No  one  will  dare  hint 
that  I  have  ever  indulged  in  any  sins — great  or  small." 

But  Raoul  became  more  and  more  sad  as  the  time  ap- 
proached. Reflection  gradually  showed  him  the  blackness 
of  the  contemplated  crime.  Raoul  was  bold  and  deter- 
mined in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  gratifications  and  wicked- 
ness ;  he  could  smile  in  the  face  of  his  best  friend,  while 
cheating  him  of  his  last  napoleon  at  cards  ;  and  he  could 
sleep  well  after  stabbing  his  enemy  to  the  heart ;  but  he 
was  young.  He  was  young  in  sin.  Vice  had  not  yet  pen- 
etrated ta  his  marrow-bones — corruption  had  not  yet 
crowded  into  his  soul  enough  to  uproot  and  destroy  every 
generous  sentiment.  It  had  not  been  so  very  long  since 
he  had  cherished  a  few  holy  beliefs.  The  good  intentions  of 
his  boyhood  were  not  quite  obliterated  from  his  sometimes 


FILE  NO.  113.  303 

reproachful  memory.  Possessing  the  daring  courage  nat- 
ural to  youth,  he  depised  the  cowardly  part  forced  upon 
.him  ;  this  dark  plot — this  slow  agony  of  two  helpless 
women,  filled  him  with  horror  and  disgust.  His  heart  re- 
volted at  the  idea  of  acting  the  part  of  Judas  towards  his 
mother,  to  betray  her  between  two  kisses.  Disgusted  by 
Louis's  cool  villany,  he  longed  for  some  great  peril  to  be 
braved,  so  as  to  excuse  himself  in  his  own  eyes.  But  no  ; 
he  well  knew  that  he  ran  no  risk,  not  even  that  of  being 
arrested  and  sent  to  prison.  For  he  was  certain  that,  if 
M.  Fauvel  discovered  everything,  he  would  do  his  utmost 
to  hush  up  every  fact  connected  with  the  disgraceful  story. 
Although  he  was  careful  not  to  breathe  it  to  De  Clameran, 
he  felt  a  sincere  affection  for  Madame  Fauvel,  and  was 
touched  by  the  indulgent  fondness  which  she  so  unchang- 
ingly lavished  upon  him.  He  had  been  happy  at  Ve'sinet ; 
while  his  accomplice,  or  rather  his  master,  was  at  Oloron. 
He  would  have  been  glad  to  lead  an  honest  life,  and  could 
not  see  the  sense  of  committing  a  crime  when  there  was 
no  necessity  for  it.  He  hated  De  Clameran,  who  abused 
his  power  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  a  selfish  passion  ;  and 
he  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  thwarting  his  plots,  if  it 
could  be  done  without  also  ruining  himself.  His  resolu- 
tion, which  had  been  so  firm  in  the  beginning,  was  growing 
weaker  and  weaker  as  the  hours  rolled  on  ;  as  the  crisis 
approached,  his  horror  of  the  deed  increased.  And  yet 
Louis  never  left  him,  but  continually  painted  for  him  a 
dazzling  future,  position,  wealth,  and  freedom.  He  pre- 
pared, and  forced  his  accomplice  to  rehearse,  the  scene 
which  was  to  be  enacted  at  Madame  Fauvel's,  with  as 
much  coolness  and  precision  as  if  it  were  to  be  performed 
at  a  public  theatre.  Louis  said  that  no  piece  could  be  well 
acted  unless  the  actor  was  interested,  and  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  his  role.  But  the  more  urgently  Louis  pressed 
upon  him  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  success — the 
oftener  he  sounded  in  his  ears  the  magic  words  "  five  hun- 
dred thousand  francs,"  the  more  loudly  did  Raoul's  con- 
science cry  out  against  the  sinful  deed.  On  the  Monday 
evening,  about  six  o'clock,  Raoul  felt  so  depressed  and 
miserable  that  he  asked  himself  whether,  even  if  he  wished 
if,  he  would  be  able  to  obey. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  asked  De  Clameran.  who  had  anx- 
aously  watched  these  inward  struggles. 


304  PILE  NO.  m. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Raoul,  "  yes ;  I  have  not  your  ferocious 
will,  and  I  am  afraid  ! " 

"  What,  you,  my  pupil,  my  friend  !  It  is  not  possible. 
Come,  a  little  energy,  one  more  stroke  of  our  oars  and  we 
are  in  port.  You  are  only  nervous  ;  come  to  dinner,  and 
a  bottle  of  Burgundy  will  soon  set  you  right." 

They  were  walking  along  the  boulevards.  De  Clameran 
insisted  upon  their  entering  a  restaurant,  and  having  din- 
ner in  a  private  room.  Vainly  did  he  strive,  however,  to 
chase  the  gloom  from  his  companion's  pale  face.  Raoul 
sat  listening,  with  a  sullen  frown,  to  his  friend's  jest  about 
*'  swallowing  the  bitter  pill  gracefully."  Urged  by  Louis, 
he  drank  two  bottles  of  wine,  in  hopes  that  intoxication 
would  inspire  him  with  courage  to  do  the  deed.  But  the 
drunkenness  he  sought  came  not ;  the  wine  proved  false  ; 
at  the  bottom  of  the  last  bottle  he  found  nothing  but  an- 
ger and  disgust.     The  clock  struck  eight. 

"  The  time  has  come,"  said  Louis  firmly. 

Raoul  turned  livid  ;  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  limbs 
trembled  so  that  he  was  unable  to  stand  on  his  feet.  "  Oh, 
I  cannot  do  it !  "  he  cried  in  an  agony  of  terror  and  rage. 

De  Clameran's  eyes  flashed  angrily  at  the  prospect  of  all 
his  plans  being  ruined  at  the  last  moment.  But  he  dared 
not  give  way  to  his  anger,  for  fear  of  exasperating  Raoul, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  anxious  for  an  excuse  to  quarrel ;  so 
he  violently  pulled  the  bell-rope.  A  waiter  appeared. 
"  A  bottle  of  port,"  he  said,  "  and  a  bottle  of  rum." 

When  the  waiter  returned  with  the  bottles,  Louis  filled 
a  large  glass  with  the  two  liquors  mixed,  and  handed  it  to 
Raoul.     "  Drink  this  !  "  he  said. 

Raoul  emptied  the  glass  at  a  draught,  and  a  faint  color 
returned  to  his  pale  cheek.  He  arose,  and  striking  the  ta- 
ble with  his  fist,  cried  fiercely,  "  Come  along  !  " 

But  brifore  he  had  walked  thirty  yards,  the  fictitious  en- 
ergy inspired  by  drink  deserted  him.  He  clung  to  De 
Clameran's  arm,  and  was  almost  dragged  along,  trembling 
like  a  criminal  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold. 

"  If  I  can  once  get  him  in  the  house,"  thought  Louis, 
who  had  studied  Raoul  and  understood  him  ;  "  once  inside, 
his  role  will  sustain  him  and  carry  him  through,  and  all 
will  be  well.  The  cowardly  baby  !  I  would  like  to  wring 
his  neck ! " 

As  they  walked  along  he  said :  "  Now,  don't  forget  our 


FILE  NO.  113.  305 

arrangements,  and  be  careful  how  you  enter  the  house  ; 
everything  depends  upon  that.  Have  you  the  pistol  in 
your  pocket  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !     Let  me  alone  !  " 

It  was  well  that  De  Clameran  accompanied  Raoul ;  for, 
when  he  got  in  sight  of  the  door  his  courage  gave  way, 
and  he  longed  to  retreat.  "  A  poor,  helpless  woman  !  " 
he  groaned,  "  and  an  honest  man  who  pressed  my  hand  in 
friendship  yesterday,  to  be  cowardly  ruined,  betrayed  by 
me  !     Ah,  it  is  too  base,  too  cowardly  !  " 

"  Come,"  said  De  Clameran  in  a  tone  of  contempt,  "  I 
thought  you  had  more  nerve.  When  a  fellow  has  no  more 
pluck  than  that,  he  should  remain  honest  !  " 

Raoul  overcame  his  weakness,  and,  silencing  the  clam- 
ors of  his  conscience,  hurried  to  the  house  and  pulled 
the  bell.  "  Is  Madame  Fauvel  at  home  ?  "  he  inquired  of 
the  servant  who  opened  the  door. 

"  Madame  is  alone  in  the  little  drawing-room,"  was  the 
reply. 

And  Raoul  went  up  stairs. 


XX. 

De  Clameran's  injunction  to  Raoul  was  :  "  Be  very 
cautious  how  you  enter  the  room  ;  your  appearance  must 
tell  everything,  and  thus  avoid  impossible  explanations." 

The  recommendation  was  useless.  The  instant  that 
Raoul  entered  the  room,  the  sight  of  his  pale,  haggard  face 
and  wild  eyes  made  Madame  Fauvel  exclaim :  "  Raoul ! 
What  m.isfortune  has  happened  to  you  t  " 

The  sound  of  her  tender,  affectionate  voice  acted  like 
An  electric  shock  upon  the  young  bandit.  He  shook  like 
a  leaf.  But  at  the  same  time  his  mind  seemed  to  change. 
Louis  was  not  mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  his  companion's 
character.  Raoul  was  on  the  stage,  his  part  was  to  be 
played  ;  his  assurance  returned  to  him  ;  his  cheating,  ly- 
ing nature  assumed  the  ascendant.  "  This  misfortune  is 
the  last  I  shall  ever  suffer,  mother  !  " 

Madame  Fauvel  rushed  towards  him,  and,  seizing  his 
hand,  gazed   searchingly  into  his  eyes,   as  if  to  read  his 
very  soul.     **  What  is  the  matter  ?  Raoul,  my  dear  son,  do 
*I1  me  what  troubles  you." 
to 


jo6  FILE  NO.  wx. 

He  gently  pushed  lier  from  him.  "  The  matter  is,  xnf 
mother,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  heart-broken  despair,  "  that 
I  am  unworthy  of  you,  unworthy  of  my  noble  father !  " 

She  shook  her  head  as  though  to  protest. 

"  Alas !  "  he  said,  "  I  know  and  judge  myself.  No  one 
can  reproach  me  for  my  infamous  conduct  more  bitterly 
than  does  my  own  conscience.  I  am  not  naturally  wicked, 
but  only  a  miserable  fool.  At  times  I  am  like  an  insane 
man,  and  am  not  responsible  for  my  actions.  Ah,  my 
dear  mother,  I  would  not  be  what  I  am,  if  you  had  watched 
over  my  childhood.  But  brought  up  among  strangers, 
with  no  guide  but  my  own  evil  passions,  nothing  to  re- 
strain me,  no  one  to  advise  me,  no  one  to  love  me,  owning 
nothing,  not  even  my  stolen  name,  I  am  cursed  with  van- 
ity and  unbounded  ambition.  Poor,  with  no  one  to  assist 
me  but  you,  I  have  the  tastes  and  vices  of  a  millionaire's 
son.  Alas  !  when  I  found  you,  the  evil  was  done.  Your 
affection,  your  maternal  love,  the  only  true  happiness  of 
my  life,  could  not  save  me.  I,  who  had  suffered  so  much, 
endured  so  many  privations,  even  the  pangs  of  hunger,  be- 
came spoiled  by  this  new  life  of  luxury  and  pleasure  which 
you  opened  before  me.  I  rushed  headlong  into  extrava- 
gance, as  a  drunkard  long  deprived  of  drink  seizes  and 
drains  to  the  dregs  the  first  bottle  in  his  reach." 

Madame  Fauvel  listened,  silent  and  terrified,  to  these 
words  of  despair  and  remorse,  which  Raoul  uttered  with 
remarkable  vehemence.  She  dared  not  interrupt  him,  but 
felt  certain  some  dreadful  piece  of  news  was  coming. 
Raoul  continued  in  a  sad,  hopeless  tone  :  "  Yes ;  I  have 
been  a  weak  fool.  Happiness  was  within  my  reach,  and 
I  had  not  the  sense  to  stretch  forth  my  hand  and  grasp  it. 
I  rejected  a  delicious  reality  to  eagerly  pursue  a  vain  phan- 
tom. I,  who  ought  to  have  spent  my  life  at  your  feet, 
and  daily  striven  to  express  my  gratitude  for  your  lavish 
kindness,  have  made  you  unhappy,  destroyed  your  peaje 
of  mind,  and,  instead  of  being  a  blessing,  I  have  been  a 
curse  ever  since  the  first  fatal  day  you  welcomed  me  'c 
your  kind  heart.  Ah,  unfeeling  brute  that  I  was,  to  squan- 
der upon  creatures  whom  I  despised,  a  fortune,  of  which 
each  gold  piece  must  have  cost  you  a  tear  !  Too  late,  too 
late  !     I  find  that  with  you  was  happiness." 

He  stopped,  as  W  overcome  by  the  consci''mr.aess  ot  his 
evil  deeds,  and  seemed  about  to  burst  into  tears. 


PILE  NO.  113.  307 

"  It  is  never  too  late  to  repent,  my  son,  ^  murmured 
Madame  Fauvel  in  comforting  tones. 

"  Ah,  if  I  only  could  !  "  cried  Raoul ;  "but  no,  it  is  too 
late  !  Besides,  can  I  tell  how  long  my  good  resolutions 
will  last  ?  This  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  condemned 
myself  pitilessly.  Stinging  remorse  for  each  new  fault 
made  me  swear  to  lead  a  better  life,  to  sin  no  more.  What 
was  the  result  of  these  periodical  repentances  ?  At  the 
first  temptation  I  forgot  my  remorse  and  good  resolutions. 
I  am  weak  and  mean-spirited,  and  you  are  not  firm  enough 
to  govern  my  vacillating  nature.  While  my  intentions  are 
good,  my  actions  are  villanous.  The  disproportion  be- 
tween my  extravagant  desires,  and  the  means  of  gratifying 
them,  is  too  great  for  me  to  endure  any  longer.  Who 
knows  to  what  fearful  lengths  my  unfortunate  disposition 
may  lead  me  ?  However,  I  shall  know  how  to  do  myself 
justice  !  "  he  finally  said  with  a  reckless  laugh. 

Madame  Fauvel  was  too  cruelly  agitated  to  follow  Raoul's 
skilful  transitions.  "  Speak  !  "  she  cried,  "  explain  your- 
self; am  I  not  your  mother?  Tell  me  the  truth;  I  am 
ready  to  hear  the  worst." 

He  appeared  to  hesitate,  as  if  afraid  to  crush  his  moth- 
er's heart  by  the  terrible  blow  he  was  about  to  inflict. 
Then  in  a  voice  of  gloomy  despair  he  replied :  "  I  am 
ruined  ! " 

''Ruined!" 

"  Yes,  ruined ;  and  I  have  nothing  more  to  expect  or 
hope  for.  I  am  dishonored,  and  all  through  my  own 
fault ;  no  one  is  to  blame  but  myself." 

"  Raoul !  " 

*'  It  is  the  sad  truth,  my  poor  mother  ;  but  fear  nothing. 
I  shall  not  trail  in  the  dust  the  name  which  you  bestowed 
upon  me.  I  will  at  least  have  the  courage  not  to  survive 
my  dishonor.  Come,  mother,  don't  pity  me,  or  distress 
yourself  ;  I  am  one  of  those  miserable  beings  fated  to  find 
no  peace  save  in  the  arms  of  death.  I  came  into  the  world 
with  misfortune  stamped  upon  my  brow.  Was  not  my 
birth  a  shame  and  disgrace  to  you  ?  Did  not  the  memo- 
ry of  my  existence  haunt  you  day  and  night,  filling  your 
soul  with  remorse  ?  And  now,  when  I  am  restored  to  you 
after  many  years'  separation,  do  I  not  prove  to  be  a  bitter 
curse  instead  of  a  blessing  ?  " 

"  Ungrateful  boy  1     Have  I  ever  reproached  you  ? " 


3o8  miE  NO.  113. 


I'. 


Never  !  Your  poor  Raoul  will  die  blessing  you,  and 
with  your  beloved  name  upon  his  lips." 

"  Die  ?     You  die,  my  son  ?  " 

"  It  must  be,  my  dear  mother  ;  honor  compels  it.  I 
am  condemned  by  judges  from  whose  decision  no  appeal 
can  be  taken — my  conscience  and  my  will." 

An  hour  ago,  Madame  Fauvel  would  have  sworn  that 
Raoul  had  made  her  suffer  all  the  torments  that  a  woman 
could  endure  ;  but  now  she  felt  that  all  her  former  troubles 
were  nothing  compared  with  her  present  agony.  "  What, 
then,  have  you  been  doing,  Raoul .'' "  she  gasped. 

"  Money  was  entrusted  to  me  ;  I  gambled,  and  lost  it." 

"  Was  it  a  very  large  sum  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  more  than  you  can  replace.  My  poor  mother, 
have  I  not  taken  everything  from  you  ?  Have  you  not 
given  me  your  last  jewel  ? '' 

"  But  M.  de  Clameran  is  rich.  He  placed  his  fortune 
at  my  disposal.     I  will  order  the  carriage,  and  go  to  him." 

"  But  M.  de  Clameran  is  away,  and  the  money  must  be 
paid  this  evening,  or  I  am  lost.  Alas  !  I  have  thought  it 
all  over  and,  although  it  is  hard  to  die  so  young,  still  fate 
wills  it  so."  He  pulled  the  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and, 
with  a  forced  smile,  added  :  "  This  will  settle  everything.'* 

Madame  Fauvel  was  too  upset  and  frightened  to  reflect 
upon  the  horror  of  RaouFs  behavior  :  and  that  these  wild 
threats  were  a  last  expedient.  Forgetful  of  the  past,  care- 
less of  the  future,  her  every  thought  concentrated  upon 
the  present,  she  comprehended  but  one  fact :  that  her  son 
was  about  to  commit  suicide,  and  that  she  was  powerless 
to  prevent  the  fearful  deed.  "  Oh,  wait  a  little  while,  my 
son  ! "  she  cried.  "  Andre  will  soon  return  home,  and  I 
will  ask  him  to  give  me — How  much  did  you  lose  ?  " 

"  Thirty  thousand  francs." 

"  You  shall  have  them  to-mOlTow.'* 

"  But  I  must  have  the  money  to-night." 

Madame  Fauvel  wrung  her  hands  in  despair.  **  Oh ! 
why  did  you  not  come  to  me  sooner,  my  son  ?  Why  did 
you  not  have  confidence  enough  in  me  to  come  at  once  for 
help  ?  This  evening  there  is  no  one  in  the  cashier's  ofhce 
to  open  the  safe,  otherwise — " 

"  The  safe  !  "  cried  Raoul,  "  but  you  know  where  the 
key  is  kept  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  in  the  next  room." 


FILE  NO.  113.  309 

"Well!"  be  exclaimed,  with  a  bold  look  that  caused 
Madame  Fauvel  to  lower  her  eyes,  and  keep  silent.     "  Give 
me  the  key,  mother,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  entreaty. 
"O  Raoul,  Raoul  !" 
"  It  is  my  life  I  am  asking  of  you." 
These  words  decided  her ;  she  snatched  up  a  candle, 
rushed  into  her  bedroom,  opened  the  secretary,  and  took 
out    M.   Fauvel's  key.     But,  when    about  to  hand    it  to 
Raoul,  her  reason  returned  to  her.     "  No,"  she  stammered, 
"  no,  it  is  impossible." 

He  did  not  insist,  and  seemed  about  to  leave  the  room. 
"  True,"  said  he  ;  "  then,  mother,  a  last  kiss." 

"  What  could  you  do  with  the  key,  Raoul  ? " .  asked 
Madame  Fauvel,  stopping  him.  "You  do  not  know  the 
secret  word." 

"  No  ;  but  I  can  try  to  open  it." 

"  You  know  that  money  is  never  kept  in  the  safe  over 
night." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  can  make  the  attempt.  If  I  open  the 
safe  and  find  money  in  it,  it  will  be  a  miracle,  showing  that 
Heaven  has  pitied  my  misfortunes." 

"  And,  if  you  are  not  successful,  will  you  promise  me  to 
wait  until  to-morrow  ?  "  « 

"  I  swear  it,  by  my  father's  memory." 
"  Then  take  the  key,  and  follow  me." 
Pale  and  trembling,  Raoul  and  Madame  Fauvel  passed 
through  the  banker's  study,  and  down  the  narrow  staircase 
leading  to  the  offices  and  cashier's  room  below.  Raoul 
walked  in  front,  holding  the  light,  and  the  key  of  the  safe. 
Madame  Fauvel  was  convinced  that  it  would  be  utterly 
impossible  to  open  the  safe,  as  the  key  was  useless  with- 
out the  secret  word,  and  of  course  Raoul  could  not  know 
what  that  was.  Even  granting  that  some  chance  had  re- 
vealed the  secret  to  him,  he  would  find  but  little  in  the 
safe,  since  everything  was  deposited  in  the  Bank  of  France. 
The  only  anxiety  she  felt  was,  how  Raoul  would  bear  the 
disappointment,  how  she  could  calm  his  despair.  She 
thought  that  she  would  gain  time  by  letting  Raoul  make 
the  attempt ;  and  then,  when  he  found  he  could  not  open 
the  safe,  he  would  keep  his  promise,  and  wait  until  the 
next  day.  "  When  he  sees  there  is  no  chance  of  success," 
she  thought,  "  he  will  wait  as  he  promised ;  and  then  to- 
morrow— to-morrow — " 


310  FILE  NO.  113. 

What  she  would  do  on  the  morrow  she  knew  not,  she 
did  not  even  ask  herself.   But  in  extreme  situations  the  least 
delay  inspires  hope,  as  if  a  short  respite  meant  sure  sal* 
vation.     The  condemned  man,  at  the  last  moment,  begs 
for  a  reprieve  of  a  day,  an  hour,  a  few  seconds.     Raoul 
was  about  to  kill  himself ;  his  mother  prayed  to  God  to 
grant  her  one  night ;  as  if  in  this  short  space  of  time  some 
unexpected  relief  would  come   to  end  her  misery.     Thev 
reached  Prosper's  office,  and  Raoul  placed  the  lamp  on  a 
high  stool  so  that  it  lighted  the   whole  room.     He  had 
then  recovered  all  his  coolness,  or  rather  that  mechanical 
precision  of  movement,  almost  independent  of  will,  which 
men  accustomed  to  peril  always  find  ready  in  time  of  need. 
Rapidly,  with  the  dexterity  of  experience,  he   slipped  the 
buttons   on   the    five    letters   composing    the    name   of 
G,  i,  p,  s,  y.     His  features  during  this  short  operation,  ex- 
pressed the  most  intense  anxiety.     He  was  fearful  that 
the  awful  energy  he  had  shown  might  after  all  be  of  no 
use  ;  perhaps  the  safe  would  remain  closed,  perhaps  the 
money  would  not  be  there.     Prosper  might  have  changed 
the  word,  or  neglected  to  have  the  money  in  the  safe. 
Madame    Fauvel    saw  these   visible    apprehensions    with 
alarm.     She  read  in  his  eyes  that  wild  hope  of  a  man  who, 
passionately  desiring  an  object,  ends  by  persuading  him- 
self that  his  own  will  suffices  to  overcome  all  obstacles. 
Having  often  been  present  when  Prosper  was  preparing  to 
leave  his  office,  Raoul  had  fifty  times  seen  him  move  the  but- 
tons, and  lock  the  safe,  just  before  the  bank  closed.    Indeed, 
having  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  and  an  eye  to  the  future, 
he  had  even  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  on  more  than  one 
occasion.     He  inserted  the  key  softly,  and  turned  it  round 
once,  pushed  it  farther  in,  and  turned  it  a  second  time  ;  then 
thrust  it  right  in  with   a  jerk,  and  turned  it  again.     His 
heart  beat  so  loudly  that  Madame  Fauvel  could  hear  its 
throbs.  The  word  had  not  been  changed  ;  the  safe  opened. 
Raoul  and  his  mother  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry — she 
of  terror,  he  of  triumph. 

"  Shut  it  again  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Fauvel,  frightened 
at  the  incomprehensible  result  of  Raoul's  attempt ;  "  leave 
it  alone,  come  away." 

And,  half  frenzied,  she  clung  to  his  arm,  and  pulled  him 
away  so  abruptly,  that  the  key  was  dragged  from  the  lock, 
and,  slipping  along  the   glossy  varnish  of  the  safe-dooij 


FILE  NO.  113.  311 

made  a  deep,  long  scratch.  But  at  a  glance  the  young 
man  had  perceived  three  rolls  of  bank  notes  on  an  upper 
shelf.  He  snatched  them  up  with  his  left  hand,  and 
slipped  them  inside  his  vest.  Exhausted  by  the  effort  she 
had  made,  Madame  Fauvel  dropped  his  arm,  and,  almost 
fainting  with  emotion,  leant  against  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"  Have  mercy,  Raoul  !  "  she  moaned.  "  I  implore  you  to 
put  back  that  money,  and  I  solemnly  swear  I  will  give  you 
twice  as  much  to-morrow.  O  my  son,  have  pity  upon  your 
unhappy  mother  !  " 

He  paid  no  attention  to  these  words  of  entreaty,  but 
carefully  examined  the  scratch  on  the  safe.  This  trace  of 
the  robbery  was  very  visible,  and  alarmed  him. 

"  At  least  you  will  not  take  all,"  said  Madame  Fauvel ; 
"just  keep  enough  to  save  yourself,  and  put  back  the 
rest." 

"  What  good  would  that  do  t  What  I  take  will  be 
missed  just  the  same." 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  at  all.  I  can  account  to  Andr^ ;  I  will 
tell  him  I  had  a  pressing  need  for  some  money,  and  opened 
the  safe  to  get  it." 

In  the  mean  time  Raoul  had  carefully  closed  the  safe. 
"  Come,  mother,  let  us  go  back  to  the  sitting-room.  A 
servant  might  go  there  to  look  for  you,  and  be  astonished 
at  our  absence." 

Raoul's  cruel  indifference  and  cold  calculations  at  such 
a  moment  filled  Madame  Fauvel  with  indignation.  She 
thought  that  she  had  still  some  influence  over  her  son — 
that  her  prayers  and  tears  would  have  some  effect  upon 
his  hard  heart.  "  Let  them  be  astonished,"  she  cried  ; 
"  let  them  come  here  and  find  us.  Then  there  will  be  an 
end  to  all  this.  Andre  will  drive  me  from  his  house  like  a 
worthless  creature,  but  I  will  not  sacrifice  the  innocent. 
Prosper  will  be  accused  of  this  to-morrow.  De  Clameran 
has  taken  from  him  the  woman  he  loved,  and  now  you  would 
deprive  him  of  his  honor  !     I  will  not  allow  It." 

She  spoke  so  loud  and  angrily  that  Raoul  was  alarmed. 
He  knew  that  one  of  the  office-men  passed  the  night  in  a 
room  close  by,  and  although  it  was  still  early  in  the  even- 
ing he  might  already  be  in  bed,  and  listening  to  them. 
"  Come  up  stairs,"  he  said,  seizing  Madame  I^'auvel's 
arm. 

But  she  clung  to  a  table,  and  refused  to  move  a  step, 


512  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  I  have  been  cowardly  enough  to  sacrifice  Madeleine,* 
she  said, ''  but  I  will  not  ruin  Prosper." 

Raoul  had  an  argument  in  reserve  which  he  knew  would 
make  Madame  Fauvel  submit  to  his  will.  "  Now,  really," 
he  said,  \\  ith  a  cynical  laugh,  "  do  you  pretend  that  you  do 
not  know  Prosper  and  I  arranged  this  little  affair  together, 
and  that  he  is  waiting  to  share  the  booty  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  !  " 

"  What !  Do  you  suppose,  then,  that  chance  alone  told 
me  the  word,  and  placed  the  money  in  the  safe  ?  " 

"  Prosper  is  honest." 

**  Of  course  he  is,  and  so  am  I  too.  The  only  thing  is, 
that  we  both  need  money." 

"You  lie." 

"  No,  dear  mother.  Madeleine  dismissed  Prosper,  and 
the  poor  fellow  has  to  console  himself  for  her  cruelty  , 
and  this  sort  of  consolation  is  expensive." 

He  took  up  the  lamp,  and  gently  but  firmly  led  Madame 
Fauvel  towards  the  staircase.  ■  She  mechanically  suffered 
him  to  do  so,  more  bewildered  by  what  she  had  just  heard, 
than  she  was  at  the  opening  of  the  safe-door.  "  What !  " 
she  gasped  ;  "  can  Prosper  be  a  thief  }  "  She  began  to 
think  herself  the  victim  of  a  terrible  nightmare,  and  that, 
when  she  awoke,  her  mind  would  be  relieved  of  this  in- 
tolerable torture.  She  helplessly  clung  to  Raouls  arm 
as  he  assisted  her  up  the  little  narrow  staircase. 

"  You  must  put  the  key  back  in  the  secretary,"  said 
Raoul,  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  bedroom  again. 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him  ;  so  he  went  and  put 
it  in  the  place  from  which  he  had  seen  her  take  it.  He 
tAen  led,  or  rather  carried,  Madame  Fauvel,  into  the  little 
sitting-room,  and  placed  her  in  an  easy-chair.  The  set  ex- 
pressionless look  of  the  wretched  woman's  eyes,  and  her 
dazed  manner,  frightened  Raoul,  who  thought  that  she 
was  going  out  of  her  mind. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  dear  mother,"  he  said,  in  coax- 
ing tones,  as  he  rubbed  her  icy  cold  hands  ;  "  you  have 
just  saved  my  life,  and  have  at  the  same  time  rendered  an 
immense  service  to  Prosper.  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  every 
thing  will  come  out  right  in  the  end.  Prosper  will  be  ac- 
cused— perhaps  arrested  ;  he  expects  that,  and  is  prepared 
for  it ;  he  will  deny  his  culpability ;  and,  as  there  is  no 
proof  against  hirp,  h^  wUl  SQon  be  set  at  Ubertjo" 


FILE  NO.  113.  313 

But  these  falsehoods  were  wasted  on  Madame  Fauvel, 
who  was  incapable  of  understanding  anything  said  to  her. 
"  Raoul,"  she  moaned,  "  Raoul,  my  son,  you  have  killed 
me." 

Her  gentle  voice,  kind  even  its  despairing  accents, 
touched  the  very  bottom  of  Raoul's  perverted  heart,  and 
once  more  his  soul  was  so  wrung  by  remorse,  that  he  felt 
inclined  to  put  back  the  stolen  money.  The  thought  of 
De  Clameran  restrained  him.  Finding  that  Madame  Fau- 
vel still  sat  motionless  and  death-like  in  her  chair,  and 
fearing  that  M.  Fauvel  or  Madeleine  might  enter  at  any 
moment,  and  demand  an  explanation,  he  hastily  pressed  a 
kiss  upon  his  mother's  brow,  and  hurried  from  the  house. 
At  the  restaurant,  in  the  room  where  they  had  dined,  De 
Clameran,  tortured  by  anxiety,  awaited  his  accomplice. 
He  wondered  if,  at  the  last  moment,  when  he  was  not  near 
to  sustain  him,  Raoul  would  prove  a  coward  and  retreat. 
The  merest  accident,  too,  is  sufficient  to  upset  the  most 
skilful  combinations.  When  Raoul  returned  he  jumped  to 
his  feet,  ghastly  pale,  and  with  difficulty  gasped  out : 
"  Well  ?  " 

"  It  is  done,  uncle,  thr.nks  to  you  ;  and  I  am  now  the 
greatest  villain  on  the  face  of  the  earth."  He  unbuttoned 
his  vest,  and,  pulling  cut  the  four  bundles  of  bank-notes, 
angrily  dashed  them  upon  the  table,  adding,  in  a  tone  of 
hate  and  contempt :  "  Now  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.  This 
is  the  price  of  the  happiness,  honor,  and  perhaps  the  life, 
of  three  persons." 

De  Clameran  paid  no  attention  to  these  angry  words. 
With  feverish  eagerness  he  seized  the  notes,  and  held  them 
in  his  hand  as  if  to  convince  himself  of  the  reality  of  suc- 
cess.    "  Now  Madeleine  is  mine,"  he  cried,  excitedly. 

Raoul  said  nothing.  This  exhibition  of  joy,  after  the 
scene  in  which  he  had  just  been  an  actor,  disgusted  and 
humiliated  him.  Louis  misinterpreted  his  silence,  and 
asked,  gayly  :  "  Did  you  have  much  difficulty  ? " 

"  I  forbid  you  ever  to  allude  to  this  evening's  work,'* 
cried  Raoul,  fiercely.  "  Do  you  hear  me  ?  I  wish  to  for- 
get it." 

De  Clameran  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  this  outburst  of 
anger,  and  said,  in  a  bantering  tone  :  "  Just  as  you  please, 
my  handsome  nephew  ;  forget  it  if  you  like.  I  rather  think, 
though,  you  will  not  refuse  to  accept  these  three  hundred 


314  FILE  NO.  113. 

and  fifty   thousand   francs,  as  a  slight  memento.     Take 
them — they  are  yours." 

This  generosity  seemed  neither  to  surprise  nor  satisfy 
Raoul.     "According  to  our  agreement,"  he  said,  sullenly, 
"  I  was  to  have  much  more  than  this." 
*'  Of  course  ;  this  is  only  on  account." 
"  And  when  am  I  to  have  the  rest,  if  you  please  ?  " 
"  The  day  I  marry  Madeleine,  and  not  before,  my  boy. 
You  are  too  valuable  an  assistant  to  lose  at  present ;  and 
you  know  that,  though  I  don't  distrust  you,  I  am  not  alto- 
gether sure  of  your  sincere  affection  for  me." 

Raoul  reflected  that  to  commit  a  crime,  and  not  profit 
by  it,  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity.  He  had  returned 
with  the  intention  of  breaking  off  all  connection  with  De 
Ciameran  ;  but  he  now  determined  that  he  would  not  aban- 
don his  accomplice  until  there  was  nothing  more  to  get 
out  of  him.  "Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  accept  this  on  ac- 
count ;  but  remember,  I  will  never  do  another  piece  of 
work  like  this  of  to-night." 

De  Ciameran  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  replied  :  "  That 
is  sensible ;  now  that  you  are  rich,  you  can  afford  to  be 
honest.  Set  your  conscience  at  rest,  for  I  promise  you  I 
will  require  nothing  more  of  you  save  a  few  trifling  ser' 
vices.  You  can  retire  behind  the  scenes  now,  while  I 
appear  upon  the  stage." 

XXI. 

For  more  than  an  hour  after  Raoul's  departure,  Madame 
Fauvel  remained  in  a  state  of  torpor  bordering  upon  un- 
consciousness. Gradually,  however,  she  recovered  he* 
senses  sufficiently  to  comprehend  the  horrors  of  her  pres- 
ent situation  ;  and,  with  the  faculty  of  thought,  that  of  sut- 
fering  returned.  The  dreadful  scene  in  which  she  had  ta- 
tken  part  was  still  before  her  affrighted  vision  ;  all  the  at' 
fending  circumstances,  unnoticed  at  the  time,  now  struck  hei 
forcibly.  She  saw  that  she  had  been  the  dupe  of  a  shame* 
ful  conspiracy ;  that  Raoul  had  tortured  her  with  cold- 
blooded cruelty,  had  taken  advantage  of  her  tenderness, 
and  played  with  her  sufferings.  But  had  Prosper  anything 
to  do  with  the  robbery  ?  This  Madame  Fauvel  had  no 
way  of  finding  out.     Ah,  Kaoul  knew  how  the  blow  wquM 


FILE  NO.   113.  315 

Strike  when  he  accused  his  friend.  He  knew  that  she 
would  end  by  beUeving  in  the  cashier's  complicity.  Know- 
ing that  Madeleine's  lover  was  leading  a  life  of  extrava- 
gance and  dissipation,  she  thought  it  very  likely  he  had, 
from  sheer  desperation,  resorted  to  this  bold  step  to  pay 
his  debts  ;  her  blind  affection,  moreover,  made  her  anxious 
to  attribute  the  first  idea  of  crime  to  any  one,  rather  than 
to  her  son.  She  had  heard  that  Prosper  was  supporting 
one  of  those  worthless  creatures  whose  extravagance  im- 
poverishes men,  and  whose  evil  influence  perverts  their 
natures.  When  a  young  man  is  thus  degraded,  will  he 
stop  at  any  sin  or  crime  ?  Alas  !  Madame  Fauvel  knew, 
from  her  own  sad  experience,  to  what  depths  even  one 
fault  can  lead.  Although  she  believed  Prosper  guilty,  she 
did  not  blame  him,  but  considered  herself  responsible  for 
his  sins.  Was  she  not  the  cause  that  he  no  longer  fre- 
quented the  home  he  had  begun  to  look  upon  as  his  own  ? 
Had  she  not  destroyed  his  hopes  of  happiness,  and  driven 
him  to  a  life  of  dissipation,  wherein  perhaps  he  sought  for- 
getfulness  ?  She  was  undecided  whether  to  confide  in 
Madeleine,  or  bury  the  secret  in  her  own  breast.  Fatally 
inspired,  she  decided  to  keep  silent. 

When  the  young  girl  returned  home  at  eleven  o'clock, 
Madame  Fauvel  not  only  was  silent  as  to  what  had  oc- 
curred,  but  even  succeeded  in  so  concealing  all  traces  of 
her  agitation,  that  she  escaped  any  questions  from  her 
niece.  Her  calmness  never  left  her  when  M.  Fauvel  and 
Lucien  returned,  although  she  was  in  terror  lest  her  hus- 
band should  go  down  to  the  cashier's  room  to  examine  the 
books.  It  was  not  his  habit  to  open  the  safe  at  night, 
but  he  sometimes  did  so.  As  fate  would  have  it,  the 
banker,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room,  began  to  speak 
of  Prosper,  saying  how  distressing  it  was  that  so  interest- 
ing a  young  man  should  be  thus  throwing  himself  away, 
and  wondering  what  could  have  happened  to  make  him 
suddenly  cease  his  visits  at  the  house,  and  rec.ort  to  bad 
company.  If  M.  Fauvel  had  looked  at  the  faces  of  his 
wife  and  niece  while  he  harshly  blamed  the  cashier,  he 
would  have  been  puzzled  at  their  strange  expressions. 
All  night  long,  Madame  Fauvel  suffered  the  most  intolerable 
agony. 

"Jn  six  hours,"  she  would  say  to  herself,  "in  three 


3i6  FILE  NO.  113. 

hours,  in  one  hour,  all  will  be  discovered  ;  and  then  what 
will  happen  ? " 

When  daybreak  came,  she  heard  the  servants  moving 
about  the  house.  Then  the  offices  were  opened,  and  the 
noise  made  by  the  arriving  clerks  reached  her.  She  at- 
tempted to  get  up,  but  felt  so  ill  and  weak  that  she  sank 
back  upon  her  pillow  ;  and  lying  there,  trembling  like  a 
leaf,  bathed  in  cold  perspiration,  she  awaited  the  discov- 
ery of  the  robbery.  She  was  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
bed,  straining  her  ear  to  catch  the  least  sound,  when  Mad- 
eleine, who  had  shortly  before  left  her,  rushed  back  into 
the  room.  The  poor  girl's  white  face  and  wild  eyes  told 
Madame  Fauvel  that  the  crime  was  discovered. 

"  Do  you  know  what  has  happened  aunt  ?  "  cried  Mad- 
eleine, in  a  shrill,  horrified  tone.  "  Prosper  is  accused  of 
robbery,  and  the  commissary  of  police  has  come  to  take 
him  to  prison  ! " 

A  groan  was  Madame  Fauvel's  on/y  answer. 

"  Raoul  or  the  marquis  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,"  con- 
tinued Madeleine,  excitedly. 

"  How  can  they  be  concerned  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  yet ;  but  I  only  know  that  Prosper  is  inno- 
cent. I  have  just  seen  him,  spoken  to  him.  He  would 
never  have  looked  me  in  the  face  had  he  been  guilty." 

Madame  Fauvel  opened  her  lips  to  confess  all :  fear 
kept  her  silent. 

"  What  can  these  wretches  want  ?  "  asked  Madeleine, 
"  what  new  sacrifice  do  they  demand  ?  Dishonor  Pros- 
per !  They  had  far  better  have  killed  him — I  would  have 
said  nothing." 

M.  Fauvel's  entrance  into  the  room  interrupted  Made- 
leine. The  banker  was  so  enraged  that  he  could  scarcely 
speak.  '  The  worthless  scoundrel  !  "  he  cried  :  "  to  think 
of  his  daring  to  accuse  me !  to  insinuate  that  I  robbed 
my  own  safe  !  And  that  Marquis  de  Clameran,  who  seems 
to  doubt  my  integrity."  Then,  without  noticing  the 
effect  of  his  words  upon  the  two  women,  he  proceeded 
to  relate  all  that  had  occurred.  "  I  was  afraid  of  some- 
thing of  this  sort  last  night,"  he  said  in  conclusion  ;  "  this 
is  the  result  of  leading  such  a  life  as  his  has  been  lately." 

Throvighout  the  day  Madeleine's  devotion  to  her  aunt 
was  se^'erely  tried.  The  generous  girl  saw  disgrace  heaped 
upon  the  man  she  loved.     She  had  perfect  faith  in  his  in- 


FILE  NO.  113.  317 

nocence  ,  she  felt  sure  she  knew  who  had  laid  the  trap  to 
ruin  him,  and  yet  she  did  not  say  a  word  in  his  defence. 
Fearing  that  Madeleine  would  suspect  her  of  complicity  in 
the  theft,  if  she  remained  in  bed  and  betrayed  so  much 
agitation,  Madame  Fauvel  rose  and  dressed  for  breakfast. 
It  was  a  dreary  meal.  No  one  tasted  a  morsel.  The  ser- 
vants moved  about  on  tiptoe,  as  silently  as  if  a  death  had 
occurred  in  the  family. 

About  two  o'clock  a  servant  came  to  M.  Fauvel's  study, 
and  said  that  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  desired  to  see  him. 
"  What !  "  cried  the  banker,  "  does  he  dare — "  Then, 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  added  :  "  Ask  him  to  walk 
up." 

The  very  name  of  De  Clameran  sufficed  to  arouse  all 
M.  Fauvel's  slumbering  wrath.  The  victim  of  a  robbery, 
finding  his  safe  empty  at  the  moment  that  he  was  called 
upon  to  make  a  heavy  payment,  he  had  been  constrained 
to  curb  his  anger  and  resentment ;  but  now  he  determined 
to  have  his  revenge  upon  his  insolent  visitor.  But  the 
marquis  declined  to  come  up  stairs.  The  messenger  re- 
turned with  the  answer  that  the  gentleman  had  a  particu- 
lar reason  for  seeing  M.  Fauvel  in  the  office  below,  where 
the  clerks  were, 

"  What  does  this  fresh  impertinence  mean  ?  "  cried  the 
banker,  as  he  angrily  jumped  up  and  hastened  down  stairs. 

M.  de  Clameran  was  standing  the  middle  of  the  office 
adjoining  the  cashier's  room ;  M.  Fauvel  walked  up  to 
him,  and  roughly  said  :  "  What  do  you  want  now,  sir .? 
You  Imve  been  paid  your  money,  and  I  have  your  receipt." 

To  the  surprise  of  all  the  clerks,  and  the  banker  himself, 
the  marquis  seemed  not  in  the  least  offended  at  this  rude 
greeting,  but  answered  in  a  deferential  though  not  at  all 
humble  manner :  "  You  are  hard  upon  me,  sir,  but  I  de- 
serve it,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.  A  gentleman  always 
acknowledges  when  he  is  in  the  wrong  :  in  this  instance  I 
am  the  offender ;  and  I  flatter  myself  that  my  past  will 
permit  me  to  say  so  without  being  accused  of  coward- 
ice or  lack  of  self-respect.  If  I  desired  to  see  you  here 
instead  of  in  your  study,  it  was  because,  having  been  rude 
to  you  in  the  presence  of  your  clerks,  I  wished  them  to  be 
witnesses  of  my  apology  for  the  same." 

De  Clameran's  speech  was  so  different  from  his  usual 
Qverbearing,  haughty  conduct,  that  the  surprised  banker 


3j8  file  no.  113. 

could  only  stammer  :  "  I  must  say  that  I  was  hurt  by  your 
doubts,  your  insinuations — " 

"  This  morning,"  continued  the  marquis,  "  I  was  irrita- 
ted, and  thoughtlessly  gave  way  to  my  temper.  Although 
I  am  gray-headed,  my  disposition  is  as  excitable  as  that  of 
a  fiery  young  man  of  twenty.  My  words,  believe  me,  did 
not  represent  my  real  thoughts,  and  I  regret  them  deeply." 

M.  Fauvel  being  himself  a  kind-hearted  though  quick- 
tempered man,  could  understand  De  Clameran's  feelings  ; 
and,  knowing  that  his  own  high  reputation  for  scrupulous 
1  oiesty  could  not  be  affected  by  any  hasty  language,  he  at 
once  calmed  down  before  so  frank  an  apology.  Holding 
out  his  hand  to  De  Clameran,  he  said  :  "  Let  us  forget 
what  happened,  sir." 

They  conversed  in  a  friendly  manner  for  some  minutes  ; 
and  De  Clameran,  after  explaining  why  he  had  such  press- 
ing need  of  the  money  at  that  particular  hour  of  the  morn- 
ing, turned  to  leave,  saying  that  he  would  do  himself  the 
honor  of  calling  upon  Madame  Fauvel.  "That  is,  if  a 
visit  just  now  would  not  be  considered  intrusive,"  he  said 
with  a  shade  of  hesitation.  "  Perhaps  after  the  trouble  of 
this  morning,  she  does  not  wish  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  banker  ;  "  I  think  a  visit  would 
cheer  her  up.  I  am  obliged  to  go  out  on  account  of  this 
unfortunate  affair." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  in  the  same  room  where  Raoul  had 
threatened  to  kill  himself  the  night  before  ;  she  looked 
very  ill  as  she  lay  on  a  sofa,  with  Madeleine  seated  beside 
her. 

When  M.  de  Clameran  was  announced,  they  both  started 
up  as  if  a  phantom  had  appeared  before  them.  Although 
Louis  had  been  gay  and  smiling  when  he  parted  from  M. 
Fauvel  down  stairs,  he  now  wore  a  melancholy  aspect,  as 
he  gravely  bowed,  and  refused  to  seat  himself  in  the  chair 
which  Madame  Fauvel  motioned  him  to  take. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  ladies,"  he  began,  "  for  intruding 
upon  your  affliction  ;  but  I  have  a  duty  to  fulfil." 

The  two  women  were  silent ;  they  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  him  to  explain.  He  therefore  added  in  an  undertone  : 
"  I  know  all." 

By  an  imploring  gesture,  Madame  Fauvel  tried  to  stop 
him.  She  saw  that  he  was  about  to  reveal  her  secret  to 
Madeleine.     But   Louis  would  not   see  this  gesture ;  he 


FILE  NO.  113.  319 

turned  his  whole  attention  to  Madeleine,  who  haughtily 
said  :  "Explain  yourself,  sir." 

"  Only  an  hour  ago,"  he  replied,  "  I  discovered  that 
Raoul  last  night  forced  from  his  mother  the  key  of  the 
safe,  and  stole  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs." 

Madeleine  crimsoned  with  shame  and  indignation  ;  she 
leaned  over  the  sofa,  and  seizing  her  aunt  by  the  wrists 
shook  her  violently.  "  Is  it  true  t  "  she  asked  in  a  hoi 
low  voice  ;  "  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  groaned  Madame  Fauvel  utterly  crushed 

"  You  have  allowed  Prosper  to  be  accused,"  cried  th^ 
young  girl ;  "  you  have  suffered  him  to  be  arrested  and 
disgraced  for  life." 

"  Forgive  me,"  murmured  her  aunt.  "  Raoul  was  about 
to  kill  himself ;  I  was  so  frightened  !  Then  you  know- 
Prosper  was  to  share  the  money  with  him." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Madeleine  indignantly;  "  you  wera 
told  that,  and  you  believed  it !  " 

De  Clameran  interrupted  them.  "  Unfortunately,'" 
said  he  in  a  sad  tone,  "  what  your  aunt  says  of  M.  Bertomy 
is  the  truth." 

"  Your  proofs,  sir,  where  are  your  proofs  ?  " 

"  Raoul's  confession  !  " 

"  Raoul  is  a  scoundrel !  " 

"  That  is  only  too  true  ;  but  how  did  he  find  out  the 
word,  if  M.  Bertomy  did  not  reveal  it  ?  And  who  left  the 
money  in  the  safe  but  M.  Bertomy  ?  " 

These  arguments  had  no  effect  upon  Madeleine.  "And 
now  tell  me,"  she  said  scornfully,  "  what  became  of  the 
money  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  significance  of  these  words  ; 
they  meant :  "  You  are  the  instigator  of  the  robbery,  and 
of  course  the  receiver  as  well  " 

This  harsh  accusation  from  a  girl  whom  he  so  passion- 
ately loved,  when,  grasping  bandit  as  he  was,  he  risked 
for  her  sake  all  the  money  gained  by  his  crimes,  so  cruelly 
hurt  De  Clameran  that  he  turned  livid.  But  he  had  pre- 
pared and  studied  his  part  too  well,  to  be  at  all  discour- 
aged. "  A  day  will  come,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  when 
you  will  deeply  regret  having  treated  me  so  cruelly.  I 
understand  your  insinuation ;  oh !  you  need  not  attempt  to 
deny  it — " 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  denying  anything,  sir," 


320  PTLB  NO.  113. 

"  Madeleine  ! "  remonstrated  Madame  Fauvel,  who 
trembled  at  the  rising  anger  of  the  man  who  held  her  fate 
in  his  hands,  ''  Madeleine,  have  mercy  !  " 

"  Mademoiselle  is  pitiless,"  said  De  Clameran  sadly ; 
"she  cruelly  punishes  an  honorable  man  whose  only  fault 
is  having  obeyed  his  brother's  dying  injunctions.  And  I 
«am  here  now  because  I  believe  in  the  joint  responsibility 
of  all  the  members  of  a  family."  Here  he  slowly  drew 
from  his  pocket  several  bundles  of  bank-notes,  and  laid 
them  on  the  mantle-piece.  "  Raoul  stole  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs,"  he  said :  "  I  return  the  same 
amount.  It  is  more  than  half  my  fortune.  Willingly  would 
I  give  the  rest  to  insure  this  being  his  last  crime." 

Too  inexperienced  to  penetrate  De  Clameran's  bold, 
and  yet  simple  plan,  Madeleine  was  dumb  with  astonish- 
ment ;  all  her  calculations  were  upset. 

Madame  Fauvel,  on  the  contrary,  accepted  this  restitu- 
tion as  salvation  sent  from  heaven.  "  Oh,  thanks^  sir, 
thanks ! "  she  cried,  gratefully  clasping  De  Clameran's 
hand  in  hers  ;   "  you  are  goodness  itself  !  " 

Louis's  eyes  lit  up  with  pleasure.  But  he  rejoiced  too 
soon.  A  minute's  reflection  brought  back  all  of  Made- 
leine's distrust.  She  thought  this  generosity  unnatural  in 
a  man  wnom  she  considered  incapable  of  a  noble  senti- 
ment, and  at  once  concluded  that  it  must  conceal  some 
snare  beneath,  "What  are  we  to  do  with  this  money.?" 
she  demanded. 

"  Restore  it  to  M.  Fauvel,  mademoiselle." 

"  We  restore  it,  sir,  and  how  ?  Restormg  the  money  is 
denouncing  Raoul,  and  ruining  my  aunt.  Take  back  your 
money,  sir." 

De  Clameran  was  too  shrewd  to  insist ;  he  took  up  the 
money  and  seemed  about  to  leAve. 

"  I  comprehend  your  refusal,  mademoiselle,  and  must 
find  another  way  of  accomplishing  my  wish.  But,  before 
retiring,  let  me  say  that  your  injustice  pains  me  deeply. 
After  the  promise  you  made  to  me,  I  had  reason  to  hope 
for  a  kinder  welcome." 

"  I  will  keep  my  promise,  sir,  but  n.ot  until  you  have 
furnished  security." 

"  Security  !     What  security  ?     Pray  explain  yourself.** 

"  Something  to  protect  my  aunt  against  Raoul  after  my 
•—marriage.    What  is  my  dowry  to  a  man  who  squanders 


FILE  NO.  113.  321 

2  hundred  thousand  francs  in  four  months  ?  We  are  mak- 
ing a  bargain ;  I  give  you  my  hand  in  exchange  for  my 
aurft's  life  and  honor,  and  of  course  you  must  give  me 
some  security  for  the  performance  of  your  promise." 

"  Oh  !  I  will  give  you  ample  securities,"  exclaimed  De 
Clameran,  "  such  as  will  quiet  all  your  suspicious  doubts 
of  my  good  faith.  Alas  !  you  will  not  believe  in  my  devo- 
tion ;  what  shall  I  do  to  convince  you  of  its  sincerity  ? 
Shall  I  try  to  save  M.  Bertomy?" 

"  Thanks  for  the  offer,  sir,"  replied  Madeleine  disdain- 
fully ;  "  if  Prosper  is  guilty,  let  him  be  punished  by  the 
law ;  if  he  is  innocent,  God  will  protect  him." 

Madeleine  and  her  aunt  rose  from  their  seats  to  signify 
that  the  interview  was  over.  De  Clameran  bowed,  and 
left  the  room.  "  What  pride  !  What  determination  !  The 
idea  of  her  demanding  security  of  me  !  "  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  slowly  walked  away,  "  But  the  proud  girl  shall 
be  humbled  yet.  She  is  so  beautiful !  and,  if  I  did  not  so 
madly  love  her — Well !  so  much  the  worse  for  -Raoul !  " 

Never  had  De  Clameran  been  so  incensed.  Madeleine's 
quiet  determination  and  forethought,  which  he  had  not 
anticipated,  had  upset  his  well-laid  plan.  He  was  discon- 
certed, and  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  He  knew  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  deceiving  a  girl  of  Madeleine's 
character  a  second  time  ;  he  saw  that  though  she  had  not 
penetrated  his  motives,  she  was  on  the  defence,  and  pre- 
pared for  any  new  surprise.  Moreover,  she  would  prevent 
Madame  Fauvel  from  being  frightened  and  forced  into 
submission  any  longer.  At  the  very  moment  when  Louis 
thought  he  had  won  easily,  hs  met  with  an  adversary. 
The  whole  thing  would  have  to  be  gone  over  again.  Al- 
though Madeleine  had  resigned  herself  to  sacrifice,  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  no  idea  of  doing  so  blindly,  and 
would  not  hazard  her  aunt's  and  her  own  happiness  upon 
the  uncertainty  of  eventual  promises.  How  could  he 
furnish  the  securities  she  demanded  ?  What  measures 
could  he  take  to  prevent  Raoul  from  importuning  his 
mother  in  the  future.  Once  De  Clameran  married,  and 
Raoul  become  rich,  there  would  be  no  further  reason  for 
disquieting  Madame  Fauvel.  But  how  prove  this  to 
Madeleine  ?  The  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances  of 
this  shameful  and  criminal  intrigue  would  have  re-assured 
her  upon  this  point ;  but  then  it  would  never  do  to  inform 
ax 


p2  PILE  NO.  113. 

her  of  these  details,  especially  before  the  marriage.  What 
securities  then  could  he  give  ?  But  De  Clameran  was  not 
one  of  those  hesitating  men  who  take  weeks  to  consider  a 
difficulty.  When  he  could  not  untie  a  knot,  he  would  cut 
it.  Raoul  was  a  stumbling-block  to  his  wishes,  and  he 
swore  to  rid  himself  of  his  troublesome  accomplice  some- 
how or  other.  It  was  not,  however,  an  easy  matter  to  dis- 
pose of  so  cunning  a  knave  as  Raoul.  But  this  consider- 
ation could  not  stop  De  Clameran.  He  was  incited  by 
one  of  those  passions  which  age  renders  terrible.  The 
more  certain  he  was  of  Madeleine's  contempt  and  dislike, 
the  more  determined  he  was  to  marry  her.  But  he  had 
sense  enough  to  see  that  he  might  ruin  his  prospects  by 
undue  haste,  and  that  the  safest  course  would  be  to  await 
the  result  of  the  accusation  against  Prosper  before  moving 
further  in  the  matter. 

He  waited  in  anxious  expectation  of  a  summons  from 
Madame  Fauvel.  But  he  was  again  mistaken.  On  calmly 
thinking  over  the  two  accomplices'  last  acts,  Madeleine 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  would  remain  quiet  for 
awhile ;  she  knew  resistance  could  have  no  worse  results 
than  would  cowardly  submission,  and  therefore  assumed 
the  entire  responsibility  of  managing  the  affair  so  as  to 
keep  at  bay  both  Raoul  and  De  Clameran.  She  knew  that 
Madame  Fauvel  would  be  anxious  to  accept  any  terms  of 
peace,  but  determined  to  use  all  her  influence  to  prevent 
her  doing  this,  and  to  force  upon  her  the  necessity  of 
maintaining  a  firmer  and  more  dignified  attitude.  This 
accounted  for  the  silence  of  the  two  women,  who  were 
quietly  waiting  for  their  adversaries  to  renew  hostilities. 
They  even  succeeded  in  concealing  their  anxiety  beneath 
assumed  indifference  ;  never  asking  any  questions  about 
the  robbery,  or  those  who  were  in  any  way  connected  with 
it.  M.  Fauvel  brought  them  an  account  of  Prosper's  ex- 
amination, the  many  charges  brought  against  him,  his 
obstinate  denial  of  having  stolen  the  money;  and  finally, 
how,  after  great  perplexity  and  close  study  of  the  case  by 
the  investigating  magistrate,  the  cashier  had  been  dis- 
charged for  want  of  sufficient  proof  against  him.  Since 
De  Clameran's  offer  to  replace  the  money,  Madame  Fau- 
vel had  not  doubted  Prosper's  guilt.  She  said  nothing, 
but  inwardly  accused  him  of  having  seduced  her  son  from 
the  path  of  virtue,  and  enticed  him  into  crime — that  son 


FILE  NO.  113.  323 

whom  she  could  never  cease  to  love.  Madeleine,  on  the 
contrary,  had  perfect  faith  in  Prosper's  innocence.  She 
was  so  sure  of  it,  that,  learning  that  he  was  about  to  be 
set  at  liberty,  she  ventured  to  ask  her  uncle,  under  pre- 
text of  some  charitable  object,  to  give  her  ten  thousand 
francs,  which  she  sent  to  the  unfortunate  victim  of  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  who,  from  all  that  she  had  heard, 
was  probably  in  great  need  of  assistance.  In  the  letter — 
cut  from  her  prayer-book  to  avoid  detection  by  writing — 
accompanying  the  money,  she  advised  Prosper  to  leave 
France,  because  she  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
a  man  of  his  proud  nature  to  remain  on  the  scene  of  his 
disgrace.  Besides,  Madeleine,  at  that  time,  feeling  that 
she  would  be  obliged  sooner  or  later  to  marry  De  Cla- 
meran,  was  anxious  to  have  the  man  she  loved,  far,  far  away 
from  her.  And  yet,  on  the  day  that  this  anonymous  pres- 
ent was  sent,  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  Madame  Fau- 
vel,  the  two  poor  women  were  fearfully  entangled  in  pecun- 
iary difficulties.  The  tradesmen,  w^hose  money  had  been 
squandered  by  Raoul,  refused  to  give  credit  any  longer, 
and  insisted  upon  their  bills  being  paid  at  once ;  saying 
they  could  not  understand  how  a  man  of  M.  Fauvel's 
wealth  and  position  could  keep  them  waiting  for  such  in- 
significant amounts.  One  was  owed  two  thousand,  an- 
other one  thousand,  and  a  third  only  five  hundred  francs. 
The  butcher,  the  grocer,  and  the  wine-merchant,  would 
call  together,  and  Madame  Fauvel  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty in  prevailing  upon  them  to  accept  something  on  ac- 
count. Some  of  them  threatened  to  apply  to  the  banker. 
Madame  Fauvel's  indebtedness  amounted  to  almost  fif- 
teen thousand  francs.  Madeleine  and  her  aunt  had  de- 
clined all  invitations  during  the  winter,  to  avoid  spending 
money  on  dress.  But  at  last  they  were  obliged  to  appear 
in  public.  M.  Fauvel's  most  intimate  friends,  the  Messrs. 
Jandidier,  were  about  to  give  a  splendid  ball,  and,  as  fate 
would  have  it,  a  fancy  ball,  which  would  require  the  pur- 
chasmg  of  costumes.  Where  was  the  money  to  come 
from .''  They  had  been  owing  a  large  bill  to  their  dress- 
maker for  over  a  year.  Would  she  consent  to  furnish 
them  with  any  more  dresses  on  credit  ?  Madeleine's  new 
maid,  Palmyre  Chocareille,  extricated  them  from  this  dif- 
ficulty. This  girl  who  seemed  to  have  suffered  all  the 
minor  ills  of  life — which,  after  all,  were   the   hardest  to 


324  FILE  NO.  113. 

bear — seemed  to  have  divined  her  mistress's  anxiety.  At 
any  rate,  she  voluntarily  informed  Madeleine  that  a  friend 
of  hers,  a  first  class  dressmaker,  had  just  set  up  for  her- 
self, and  would  be  glad  to  furnish  materials  and  make  the 
dresses  on  credit,  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  the  patronage 
of  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece,  which  would  at  once 
bring  her  plenty  of  fashionable  customers.  But  this  was 
not  all.  Neither  of  them  could  go  to  the  ball  without 
jewellery  ;  and  every  jewel  they  owned  had  been  taken  by 
Raoul,  and  pawned,  and  he  had  the  tickets.  After  think- 
ing the  matter  over,  Madeleine  decided  to  ask  Raoul  to 
devote  some  of  the  stolen  money  to  redeeming  the  jewels 
he  had  forced  from  his  mother.  She  informed  her  aunt 
of  her  plan,  saying  :  "  Make  an  appointment  with  Raoul : 
he  will  not  dare  to  refuse  you  ;  and  I  will  go  in  your  stead." 
And,  two  days  after,  the  courageous  girl  took  a  cab,  and, 
regardless  of  the  inclement  weather,  went  to  Vesinet. 
She  had  no  idea,  then,  that  M.  Verduret  and  Prosper  were 
following  close  behind  her,  and  that  they  witnessed  her 
interview  from  the  top  of  a  ladder.  Her  bold  step,  how- 
ever, was  fruitless.  Raoul  swore  that  he  had  shared  with 
Prosper ;  that  his  own  half  was  spent,  and  that  he  was 
quite  without  money.  He  even  refused  to  give  up  the 
pawn-ticket?  ;  and  Madeleine  had  to  insist  most  energetic- 
ally before  she  could  induce  him  to  give  up  four  or  five 
trifling  articles  that  were  absolutely  indispensable.  De 
Clameran  had  ordered  him  to  refuse,  because  he  hoped 
that  in  their  distress  they  would  apply  to  him  for  help. 
Raoul  had  obeyed,  but  only  after  a  violent  altercation 
witnessed  by  De  Clameran's  new  valet,  Joseph  Dubois. 
The  accomplices  were  at  that  time  on  very  bad  terms  to- 
gether. The  marquis  was  seeking  a  safe  means  of  getting 
rid  of  Raoul;  and  the  young  scamp  had  a  sort  of  present- 
iment of  his  uncle's  friendly  intentions.  Nothing  but  the 
certainty  of  impending  danger  could  reconcile  them  ;  and 
this  was  revealed  to  them  at  the  Jandidier  bail.  Who  was 
the  mysterious  mountebank  that  had  indulged  in  such 
transparent  allusions  to  Madame  Fauvel's  private  troubles, 
and  then  said  with  threatening  significance  to  Louis  :  "  1 
was  your  brother  Gaston's  friend  !  " 

Who  he  was,  where  he  came  from,  they  could  not  im- 
agine ;  but  they  clearly  saw  that  he  was  a  dangerous  ene- 
my, and  forthwith  attempted  to  assassinate  him  upon  his 


FILE  NO.   113.  325 

leaving  the  ball.  Having  followed  him  and  then  having 
lost  him,  they  became  alarmed :  "  We  cannot  be  too 
guarded  in  our  conduct,"  whispered  De  Clameran  ;  "  we 
shall  know  only  too  soon  who  he  is." 

Once  more  Raoul  tried  to  induce  him  to  give  up  his 
project  of  marrying  Madeleine.  "  Never  !  "  he  exclaimed  : 
"  I  will  marry  her,  or  perish  !  " 

They  thought  that,  now  they  were  warned,  the  danger 
of  their  being  caught  was  lessened.  But  they  did  not 
know  the  sort  of  man  who  was  on  their  track. 


XXII. 

Such  are  the  facts  that,  with  an  almost  incredible  talent 
for  investigation,  had  been  collected  and  prepared  by  M. 
Verduret,  the  stout  man  with  the  jovial  face  who  had  taken 
Prosper  under  his  protection.  Reaching  Paris  at  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  not  by  the  Lyons  train  as  he  had  an- 
nounced, but  by  the  Orleans  one,  M.  Verduret  had  has- 
tened to  the  Hotel  of  the  Grand  Archangel,  where  he  had 
found  the  cashier  impatiently  expecting  him, 

"  You  are  about  to  hear  something  extraordinary,"  he 
had  said  to  Prosper,  "  and  you  will  see  how  far  back  one 
has  to  seek  into  the  past,  for  the  primary  causes  of  a  crime. 
All  things  are  linked  together  and  dependent  upon  each 
other  in  this  world  of  ours.  If  Gaston  de  Clameran  had 
not  entered  a  little  cafe  at  Tarascon  to  play  a  game  of  bill- 
iards twenty  years  ago,  your  safe  would  not  have  been 
robbed  three  weeks  back.  Valentine  de  La  Verberie  is 
punished  in  1866  for  the  murders  committed  for  her  sake 
in  1840.     Nothing  is  ever  lost  or  forgotten.     Listen." 

And  he  forthwith  related  all  that  he  had  discovered,  re- 
ferring, as  he  went  along  to  his  notes  and  the  voluminous 
manuscript  which  he  had  prepared.  During  the  entire 
week,  M.  Verduret  had  not  perhaps  taken  in  all  twenty- 
four  hours'  rest,  but  he  bore  no  great  traces  of  fatigue. 
His  iron  muscles  braved  any  amount  of  labor,  and  his 
elastic  nature  was  too  well  tempered  to  give  way  beneath 
such  pressure.  While  any  other  man  would  have  sunk  ex- 
hausted in  a  chair,  he  stood  up  and  described,  with  the 
enthusiasm  and  captivating  animation  peculiar  to  him,  the 
minutest  details  and  intricacies  of  the  plot  that  he  had  de- 


326  FILE  NO.  113. 

voted  his  whole  energy  to  unravelling  ;  personating,  so  to 
say,  every  character  he  brought  upon  the  scene,  so  that 
his  listener  was  bewildered  and  dazzled  by  his  brilliant 
acting.  As  Prosper  listened  to  this  narrative  of  events 
happening  twenty  years  back,  the  secret  conversations  as 
minutely  related  as  if  overheard  the  moment  they  took 
place,  it  sounded  to  him  more  like  a  romance  than  a  plain 
statement  of  facts.  AH  these  ingenious  explanations 
might  be  logical,  but  what  foundation  did  they  possess  1 
Might  they  not  be  the  dream  of  an  excited  imagination  ? 

M.  Verduret  did  not  finish  his  report  until  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning  ;  then  he  exclaimed  triumphantly :  "  And 
now  they  are  on  their  guard  ;  they  are  wary  rascals  too  ;  but 
I  can  laugh  at  their  efforts,  for  I  have  them  safe.  Before  a 
week  is  over.  Prosper,  your  innocence  will  be  recognized 
by  every  one.     I  promised  your  father  this." 

"  Is  it  possible  t "  murmured  Prosper  in  a  dazed  way  j 
"  is  it  possible  1  " 

"  What  1  " 

'*  All  this  you  have  just  told  me." 

M.  Verduret  bounded  like  a  man  little  accustomed  to 
have  the  accuracy  of  his  information  doubted.  "  Is  it 
possible,  indeed  ?  "  he  cried  ;  "  but  it  is  truth  itself,  truth 
founded  on  fact  and  exposed  in  all  its  impressiveness  !  " 

"  But  how  can  such  rascalities  take  place  in  Paris,  in  our 
very  midst,  without — " 

"  Ah  ! "  interrupted  the  stout  man,  "  you  are  young,  my 
friend !  Crimes  worse  than  this  happen,  and  you  know 
nothing  of  them.  You  think  the  horrors  of  the  assize- 
court  are  the  only  ones.  Pooh  !  You  only  read  in  the 
*  Gazette  des  Tribunaux '  of  the  bloody  melodramas  of 
life,  where  the  actors,  low-born  villains,  are  as  cowardly  as 
the  knife,  or  as  stupid  as  the  poison  they  use.  It  is  at  the 
family  fireside,  often  under  shelter  of  the  law  itself,  that 
the  real  tragedies  of  life  are  acted  ;  in  these  days  traitors 
wear  gloves,  sc!oundrels  cl(5ak  themselves  in  public  esteem, 
and  their  victims  die  broken-hearted,  but  smiling  to  the  last. 
What  I  have  just  related  to  you  is  almost  an  every-day 
occurrence  ;  and  yet  you  profess  astonishment." 

"  I  can't  help  wondering  how  you  discovered  all  this 
tissue  of  crime." 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  point  !  "  said  M.  Verduret,  with  a  self- 
satisfied  smile.     "  When  I  undertake  a  task.  I  devote  m;y 


FILE  NO.  113.  327 

whold  attention  to  it.  Now,  make  a  note  of  this  :  When 
a  man  of  ordinary  intelhgence  concentrates  his  thoughts 
and  energies  upon  the  attainment  of  an  object,  he  is  al- 
most always  certain  to  ultimately  obtain  success.  Besides 
that,  I  have  my  own  means  of  working  up  a  case." 

"  Still  I  don't  see  what  grounds  you  had  to  go  upon." 

"  To  be  sure,  one  needs  some  light  to  guide  one  in  a 
dark  affair  like  this.  But  the  fire  in  De  Clameran's  eye 
ai  the  mention  of  Gaston's  name  ignited  my  lantern.  From 
that  moment  I  walked  straight  to  the  solution  of  the  mys- 
tery, as  to  a  beacon." 

Prosper's  eager,  questioning  looks  showed  that  he  would 
like  to  know  the  secret  of  his  protector's  wonderful  pene- 
tration, and  at  the  same  time  be  more  thoroughly  con- 
vinced that  what  he  had  heard  was  all  true — that  his 
innocence  would  be  clearly  proved. 

"Now  confess,"  cried  M.  Verduret,  "you  would  give 
something  to  know  how  I  discovered  the  truth  " 

"  I  certainly  would,  for  to  me  it  seems  marvellous  !  " 

M.  Verduret  enjoyed  Prosper's  bewilderment.  To  be 
sure,  he  was  neither  a  good  judge  nor  a  distinguished  ama- 
teur ;  but  sincere  admiration  is  always  flattering,  no  matter 
whence  it  comes.  "Well,"  he  replied,  "I  will  explain  my 
system.  There  is  nothing  marvellous  about  it  as  you  will 
soon  see.  We  worked  together  to  find  the  solution  of  the 
problem,  so  you  know  my  reason  for  suspecting  De  Cla- 
meran  as  the  prime  mover  in  the  robbery.  As  soon  as  I 
had  arrived  at  this  conclusion  my  task  was  easy.  You 
want  to  know  what  I  did  t  I  placed  trustworthy  people  to 
watch  the  parties  in  whom  I  was  most  interested.  Joseph 
Dubois  took  charge  of  De  Clameran,  and  Nina  Gipsy 
never  lost  sight  of  Madame  Fauvel  and  her  niece." 

"  I  know,  and  I  cannot  comprehend  how  Nina  ever  con- 
sented to  this  service.* 

"  That  is  my  secret,"  replied  M.  Verduret.  "  Having 
the  assistance  of  good  eyes  and  quick  ears  on  the  spot,  I 
went  to  Beaucaire  to  inquire  into  the  past,  so  as  to  link  it 
with  what  I  was  sure  to  learn  of  the  present.  The  next 
day  I  was  at  Clameran  ;  and  the  first  step  I  took  was  to 
find  the  son  of  Jean,  the  old  valet.  An  honest  fellow  he 
is,  too  ;  open  and  simple  as  nature  herself;  and  he  at  once 
guessed  that  I  wanted  to  purchase  some  madder." 

"  Madder }  "  said  Prosper  with  a  puzzled  look. 


328  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Of  course  I  wanted  to  buy  his  madder.  I  did  not  ap« 
pear  to  him  as  I  do  to  you  now.  He  had  madder  for  sale, 
that  was  evident ;  so  we  began  to  bargain  about  the  price. 
The  debate  lasted  almost  all  day,  during  which  time  we 
drank  a  dozen  bottles  of  wine.  About  supper-time,  Jean, 
the  younger,  was  as  drunk  as  a  barrel,  and  I  had  purchased 
nine  hundred  francs'  worth  of  madder  which  your  father 
will  sell  for  me."  Prosper  looked  so  astonished  that  M. 
Verduret  laughed  heartily.  "  I  risked  nine  hundred 
francs,"  he  continued,  "  but  thread  by  thread  I  gathered 
the  whole  history  of  the  De  Clamerans,  Gaston's  love 
affair,  his  flight,  and  the  stumbling  of  the  horse  ridden  by 
Louis.  I  found  also  that  about  a  year  ago  Louis  returned 
and  sold  the  chateau  to  a  man  named  Fougeroux,  whose 
wife,  Mihonne,  had  a  secret  interview  with  Louis  the  day 
of  the  purchase.  I  went  to  see  Mihonne.  Poor  woman  ! 
her  rascally  husband  has  pounded  nearly  all  the  sense  out  of 
her ;  she  is  almost  idiotic.  I  convinced  her  that  I  came 
from  some  De  Clameran  or  other,  and  she  at  once  related 
to  me  everything  she  knew."  The  apparent  simplicity  of 
this  mode  of  investigation  confounded  Prosper.  "From 
that  time,"  continued  M.  Verduret,  "  the  skein  began  to 
disentangle  ;  I  held  the  principal  thread.  I  now  set  about 
finding  out  what  had  become  of  Gaston.  Lafourcade,  who 
is  a  friend  of  your  father,  informed  me  that  he  had  bought 
an  iron  foundry  at  Oloron,  had  settled  there,  and  died 
soon  after." 

"  You  are  certainly  indefatigable  ! "  said  Prosper. 

"  No,  but  I  always  strike  when  the  iron  is  hot.  At  Olo- 
ron, I  met  Manuel,  who  had  gone  there  to  make  a  little 
visit  before  returning  to  Spain.  From  him  I  obtained  a 
complete  history  of  Gaston's  life,  and  all  the  particulars  of 
his  death.  Manuel  also  told  me  of  Louis's  visit ;  and  an 
inn-keeper  described  a  young  workman  who  was  there  at 
the  same  time,  whom  I  at  once  recognized  as  Raoul." 

"  But  how  did  you  know  of  all  the  conversations  between 
the  villains  ?  '*  asked  Prosper. 

"  Vou  evidently  think  I  have  been  drawing  upon  my  im- 
agination. You  will  soon  think  the  contrary.  While  I 
was  at  work  at  Oloron,  my  assistants  here  did  not  sit  with 
their  hands  in  their  pockets.  Mutually  distrustful,  De 
Clameran  and  Raoul  preserved  all  the  letters  they  received 
from  each  other.     Joseph  Dubois  copied  most  of  them, 


FILE  NO.  113.  32(^ 

and  had  the  more  important  ones  photographed,  and  for- 
warded the  copies  to  me.  Nina  spent  her  time  listening 
at  all  the  doors,  and  sent  me  a  faithful  report  of  every- 
thing she  heard.  Finally,  I  have  at  the  Fauvels'  another 
means  of  investigation,  which  I  will  reveal  to  you 
later." 

"  I  understand  it  now,"  murmured  Prosper. 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  during  my  absence, 
my  young  friend  ?  "  asked  M.  Verduiet. 

At  this  question  Prosper  turned  crimson.  But  he  kne\t 
that  it  would  never  do  to  keep  silent  about  his  imprudent 
step.  "  Alas  ! "  he  stammered,  "  I  read  in  a  newspaper 
that  De  Clameran  was  about  to  marry  Madeleine  ;  and  I 
acted  like  a  fool." 

"  What  did  you  do  ? "  inquired  M.  Verduret  anxiously. 

"  I  sent  M.  Fauvel  an  anonymous  letter,  in  which  I  in- 
sinuated that  his  wife  was  in  love  with  Raoul — " 

M.  Verduret  here  brought  his  clenched  fist  down  upon 
the  little  table  near  which  he  sat,  and  broke  it.  "  Wretched 
man  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  have  probably  ruined  everything." 
A  great  change  came  over  him.  His  usually  jovial  face 
assumed  a  menacing  expression.  He  rose  from  his  seat, 
and  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  oblivious  of  the  lodgers 
on  the  floor  below.  "  But  you  must  be  a  baby,"  added  he 
to  the  dismayed  Prosper,  "  an  idiot,  or,  worse  than  that,  a 
fool." 

"Sir!" 

''Here  you  are  drowning;  a  brave  man  springs  into 
the  water  after  you,  and  just  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  sav- 
mg  you,  you  cling  to  his  feet  to  prevent  him  swimming  ! 
What  did  I  tell  you  to  do .? " 

"  To  keep  quiet,  and  not  go  out." 

"  Well  ! " 

The  consciousness  of  having  done  a  foolish  thing  made 
Prosper  as  frightened  as  a  schoolbo}^,  accused  by  his 
teacher  of  playing  truant.  "  It  was  night,  sir,"  he  said, 
"and,  having  a  violent  headache,  I  took  a  walk  along  the 
quays.  I  thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in  my  entering 
a  cafe ,  I  took  up  a  paper  and  read  the  dreadful  announce- 
ment." 

''  Was  it  not  settled  that  you  should  have  perfect  conf 
dence  in  me  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  here,  sir  ,  this  announcement  had  quite 


330  FILE  NO.  113. 

eipset  me ;  you  were  far  away,  and  might  have  been  sur- 
prised by  an  unexpected — " 

"  Nothing  is  unexpected  except  to  a  fool !  "  declared  M. 
Verduret  peremptorily.  "  To  write  an  anonymous  letter\ 
Do  you  know  to  what  you  expose  me  ?  You  are  the  cause 
of  my  perhaps  breaking  a  sacred  promise  made  to  one  of 
the  few  persons  whom  I  highly  esteem  among  my  fellow 
beings.  I  shall  be  looked  upon  as  a  cheat  a  dastard,  I, 
who — "  He  stopped  abruptly,  as  if  afraid  of  saying  too 
much,  and  it  was  only  after  some  minufes  that,  having  be- 
come calm  again,  he  resumed :  "  It  is  no  use  crying  over 
what  is  done.  We  must  try  and  get  out  of  the  mess  some- 
how.    When  and  where  did  you  post  this  letter  ?  " 

''  Last  night,  in  the  Rue  du  Cardinal  Lemoine.  It 
hardly  reached  the  bottom  of  the  box  before  I  regretted 
having  written  it." 

'•  Your  regrets  should  have  come  sooner.  What  time 
was  it  ?  " 

"  About  ten  o'clock." 

"  Then  your  sweet  little  letter  must  have  reached  M. 
Fauvel  this  morning  with  his  other  correspondence  ;  prob- 
aoly  he  was  alone  in  his  study  when  he  opened  and  read 
it." 

"  It  is  not  probable,  it  is  certain." 

"  Can  you  recall  the  exact  words  of  your  letter  ?  Stop 
and  think,  for  it  is  very  important  that  I  should 
know." 

"  Oh,  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  reflect.  I  remember 
the  letter  as  if  I  had  just  written  it."  And  he  repeated 
almost  verbatim  what  he  had  written. 

M.  Verduret  listened  most  attentively  with  a  perplexed 
frown  upon  his  face.  "  That  is  a  formidable  anonymous 
letter,"  he  murmured,  "to  come  from  a  person  who  does 
not  deal  in  such  things.  It  insinuates  everything  without 
specifying  a  single  thing  ;  it  is  vague,  jeering,  and  treacher- 
ous. Repeat  it  to  me."  Prosper  obeyed,  and  his  second 
version  did  not  vary  from  the  first  in  a  single  word.  "  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  alarming  than  that  allusion  to  the  cash- 
ier," said  the  stout  man,  repeating  the  words  after  Prosper. 
"  The  question,  '  Is  it  also  he  who  has  stolen  Madame  Fau- 
vel's  diamonds  ? '  is  simply  horrible !  What  could  be 
more  exasperating  than  the  sarcastic  adviee,  '  In  your 
place,  I  would  n©t  have  any  public  scandal,  but  would 


FILE  NOr^iZ-  331 

watch  my  wife  ? '  The  effect  of  your  letter  must  have 
been  terrible,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  as  he  stood  with 
folded  arms  in  front  of  Prosper.  "  M.  Fauvel  is  quick- 
tempered, is  he  not  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  very  violent  temper." 

"  Then  the  mischief  is  perhaps  not  irreparable." 

"  What !  do  you  suppose — " 

"  I  think  that  an  impulsive  man  is  afraid  of  himself,  and 
seldom  carries  out  his  first  intentions.  That  is  our  only 
chance.  If,  upon  the  receipt  of  your  bomb-shell,  M.  Fau- 
vel, unable  to  restrain  himselt,  rushed  into  his  wife's  room, 
exclaiming,  '  Where  are  your  diamonds  ? '  our  plans  are 
done  for.  I  know  Madame  Fauvel,  she  v/ill  confess 
all." 

"  Why  would  this  be  so  disastrous  ?  " 

"  Because,  the  moment  Madame  Fauvel  opens  her  lips 
to  her  husband,  our  birds  will  take  flight." 

Prosper  had  never  thought  of  this  eventuality. 

"Then,  again."  continued  M.  Verduret,  "it  would 
deeply  distress  another  person." 

"  Any  one  whom  I  know  .'*  " 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  and  very  well  too.  I  should  certainly 
be  vexed  to  the  last  degree,  if  these  two  rascals  escape 
without  my  being  thoroughly  informed  about  them." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  know  sufficient." 

M.  Verduret  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  asked  :  "  Did 
you  not  perceive  any  gaps  in  my  narrative  ? " 

"  Not  one." 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  know  how  to  listen.  In  the 
first  place,  did  Louis  de  Clameran  poison  his  brother  or 
not?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  sure  of  it,  from  what  you  tell  me." 

"There  you  are!  You  are  much  more  certain,  young 
man,  than  I  am.  Your  opinion  is  n)ine  ;  but  what  deci- 
sive proof  have  we  ?  None.  I  skilfully  questioned  Dr.  C. 
He  has  not  the  shadow  of  a  suspicion  ;  and  Dr.  C.  is  no 
quack  ;  he  is  a  learned  and  observing  man  of  high  stand- 
ing. What  poisons  produce  the  effects  described  ?  I 
know  of  none  ;  and  yet  I  have  studied  all  sorts  of  poisons, 
from  the  digitalis  used  by  La  Pommeraye  to  Madame 
Sauvresy's  aconite." 

"The  death  took  place  so  opportunely — " 

*'  That  anybody  wovild  suspect  foul  play.     That  is  true; 


332  FILE  NO.  113. 

but  chance  is  sometimes  a  wonderful  accomplice  in  crime 
In  the  second  place,  I  know  nothing  of  Raoul's  antece* 
dents." 

"  Is  information  on  that  point  necessary  ?  " 

*'  Indispensable,  my  friend ;  but  we  will  soon  know 
something.  I  have  sent  one  of  my  men — excuse  me,  I 
mean  one  of  my  friends — who  is  very  expert,  M.  Palot ; 
and  he  writes  that  he  is  on  the  track.  I  am  interested  in 
the  history  of  this  sentimental,  sceptical  3^oung  rascal.  I 
have  an  idea  that,  had  he  not  known  De  Clameran,  he 
might  have  been  a  brave,  honest  sort  of  youth." 

Prosper  was  no  longer  listening.  M.  Verduret's  words 
had  inspired  him  with  confidence.  Already  he  saw  the 
guilty  men  arraigned  before  the  bar  of  justice ;  and  en- 
joyed, in  anticipation,  this  assize-court  drama,  where  he 
would  be  publicly  righted,  after  having  been  so  openly  dis- 
honored. More  than  that,  he  now  understood  Madeleine, 
her  strange  conduct  at  the  dressmaker's  was  explained, 
and  he  knew  that  she  had  never  ceased  to  love  him.  This 
certainty  of  future  happiness  restored  all  the  self-posses- 
sion that  had  deserted  him  the  day  he  found  the  safe  robbed. 
For  the  first  time  he  was  astonished  at  the  peculiarity  of 
his  situation.  Prosper  had  at  first  only  been  surprised  at 
the  protection  of  M.  Verduret  and  the  extent  of  his  inves- 
tigations ;  now  he  asked  himself,  what  could  have  been 
his  friend's  motives  for  acting  thus  t  In  a  word,  what 
price  did  he  expect  for  this  sacrifice  of  time  and  labor  } 
His  anxiety  was  so  great  on  this  point  that  he  suddenly 
exclaimed  :  "  You  have  no  longer  the  right,  sir,  to  preserve 
your  incognito  with  me.  When  you  have  saved  the  honor 
and  life  of  a  man,  you  should  at  least  let  him  know  whom 
he  has  to  thank." 

"Oh!"  said  M.  Verduret  smilingly;  "you  are  not  out 
of  the  mess  yet.  You  are  not  married  either;  so  you 
must,  for  a  few  days  longer,  have  patience  and  faith." 
The  clock  struck  six.  "  Good  heavens  !  "  he  added.  "  Can 
it  be  six  o'clock  ?  I  did  hope  to  have  a  good  night's  rest, 
but  this  is  no  time  for  sleeping."  •  He  went  on  to  the  land- 
ing, and  leaning  over  the  balusters,  called :  "  Madame 
Alexandre  !  I  say,  Madame  Alexandre  !  " 

The  hostess  of  the  Grand  Archangel,  the  portly  wife  of 
Fanferlot,  the  squirrel,  had  evidently  not  been  to  bed. 
This    fact    struck  Prosper,      She    appeared,  obsequious, 


FILE  NO.  113.  333 

smiling,  and  eager  to  please.     "  What  do  you  require,  gen- 
tlemen ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  You  can  send  me  your— Joseph  Dubois,  and  also 
Palmyre,  as  soon  as  possible.  Have  them  sent  for  at 
once,  and  let  me  know  when  they  arrive.  I  will  take  a 
little  rest  in  the  mean  time." 

As  soon  as  Madame  Alexandre  left  the  room,  the  stout 
man  unceremoniously  threw  himself  on  the  bed.  "  You 
have  no  objection,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  Prosper.  In  five 
minutes  he  was  fast  asleep ;  and  Prosper,  more  perplexed 
than  ever,  seated  himself  in  an  easy-chair  and  wondered 
who  this  strange  man  could  be.  About  nine  o'clock  some 
one  tapped  timidly  at  the  door.  Slight  as  the  noise  was, 
it  aroused  M.  Verduret,  who  sprang  up,  and  called  out : 
"  Who  is  there  ?  "  But  Prosper  had  already  opened  the 
door.  Joseph  Dubois,  the  Marquis  de  Clameran's  valet, 
entered.  M.  Verduret's  assistant  was  breathless  from 
running;  and  his  little  eyes  were  more  restless  than 
ever. 

"  Well,  master,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  once  more,"  he 
cried.  "  Now  you  can  tell  me  what  to  do  ;  I  have  been 
perfectly  lost  during  your  absence,  and  have  felt  like  a 
puppet  with  a  broken  string." 

"  What !  you  allow  yourself  to  be  disconcerted  like 
that  ? " 

"  Bless  me  !  I  think  I  had  cause  for  alarm  when  I 
could  not  find  you  anywhere.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  sent 
you  three  telegrams,  to  the  addresses  you  gave  me,  at 
Lyons,  Beaucaire,  and  Oloron,  and  received  no  answer. 
I  was  almost  going  crazy  when  your  message  reached  me 
just  now." 

"  Things  are  getting  warm,  then." 

"  Warm  !  They  are  burning  !  The  place  is  too  hot  to 
hold  me  any  longer," 

Whilst  speaking,  M.  Verduret  occupied  himself  in  re- 
pairing his  toilet,  which  had  become  disarranged  during 
his  sleep.  When  he  had  finished,  he  threw  himself  in  an 
easy-chair,  and  said  to  Joseph  Dubois,  who  remained  re- 
spectfully standing,  cap  in  hand,  like  a  soldier  awaiting 
orders  :  "  Explain  yourself,  my  lad,  and  quickly,  if  you 
please  ;  no  long  phrases." 

"  It  is  just  this,  sir.  I  don't  know  what  your  plans  are, 
or  what  means  you  have   of  carrying  them  out ;  but  you 


334  I^ILE  NO,  113. 

must  wind  up  this  affair  and  strike  5rout  final  blow  verj 
quickly." 

"  That  is  your  opinion,  Master  Joseph  !  " 

"  Yes,  master,  because  if  you  wait  any  longer,  good-by 
to  our  covey ;  you  will  only  find  an  empty  cage,  and  the 
birds  flown.  You  smile  ?  Yes,  I  know  you  are  clever, 
and  can  accomplish  anything  ;  but  they  are  cunning  blades, 
and  as  slippery  as  eels.  They  know,  too,  that  they  anj 
watched. 

"  The  devil  they  do  !  "  cried  M.  Verduret.  "  Some  one 
must  have  blundered." 

"  Oh !  nobody  has  done  anything  wrong,"  replied 
Joseph.  "  You  know  that  they  suspected  something  long 
ago.  They  gave  you  a  proof  of  it,  the  night  of  the  fancy-dress 
ball ;  I  mean  that  ugly  cut  on  your  arm.  Ever  since  they 
have  alwa3'^s  slept  with  one  eye  open.  They  were  feeling 
easier,  however,  when  all  of  a  sudden,  yesterday,  they  be- 
gan to  smell  a  rat !  " 

"Was  that  why  you  sent  me  those  telegrams  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Now  listen  :  yesterday  morning  when  my 
master  got  up,  about  ten  o'clock,  he  took  it  into  his  head 
10  arrange  the  papers  in  his  desk ;  which,  by  the  way,  has 
a  disgusting  lock  which  has  given  me  a  deal  of  trouble. 
Meanwhile,  I  pretended  to  be  making  up  the  fire,  so  as  to 
remain  in  the  room  to  watch  him.  That  man  has  a  Yan- 
kee's eye  !  At  the  first  glance  he  saw,  or  rather  divined, 
that  his  papers  had  been  meddled  with ;  he  turned  as 
white  as  a  sheet,  and  swore  an  oath,  such  an  oath !  " 

"  Never  mind  the  oath  ;  go  on," 

"  Well,  how  he  discovered  his  letters  had  been  touched 
I  can't  imagine.  You  know  how  careful  I  am.  1  had 
put  everything  back  in  its  place  just  as  I  found  it.  To 
make  sure  he  was  not  mistaken,  the  marquis  picks  up 
each  paper,  one  at  a  time,  turns  it  over,  and  smells  it.  I 
was  just  longing  to  offer  him  a  microscope,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  Jie  sprang  up,  and  kicking  his  chair  to  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  flew  at  me  in  a  fury.  '  Somebody  has 
been  at  my  papers,'  he  shrieked ;  '  this  letter  has  been 
photographed  ! '  B-r-r-r  !  I  am  not  a  coward,  but  I  can 
tell  you  that  my  heart  stood  perfectly  still ;  I  saw  myself 
dead,  cut  into  mince-meat ;  and  I  even  said  to  myself, 
*  Fanfer — excuse  me — Dubois,  my  friend,  you  are  done 
for.'     And  I  thought  of  Madame  Alexandre." 


FILE  NO.  113.  335 

M.  Verduret  was  buried  in  thought,  and  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  the  worthy  Joseph's  analysis  of  his  personal  sensa- 
tions. "  What  happened  next  ? "  he  asked  after  a  few 
minutes. 

"Why,  I  was  needlessly  frightened  after  all.  The  ras- 
cal did  not  dare  to  touch  me.  To  be  sure,  I  had  taken 
the  precaution  to  get  out  of  his  reach  ;  we  talked  with  a 
large  table  between  us.  While  wondering  what  could 
have  enabled  him  to  discover  the  secret,  I  defended  my- 
self with  virtuous  indignation.  I  said  :  '  It  cannot  be  ; 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  is  mistaken.  Who  would  dare 
touch  his  papers  ? '  Bah  !  Instead  of  listening  to  me,  he 
flourished  an  open  letter,  saying:  'This  letter  has  been 
photographed  1  here  is  proof  of  it ! '  and  he  pointed  to  a 
little  yellow  spot  on  the  paper,  shrieking  out :  '  Look ! 
Smell !  It  is — '  I  forget  the  name  he  called  it,  but  some 
acid  used  by  photographers." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  M.  Verduret;  "go  on;  what 
next  ?  " 

"  Then  we  had  a  scene  ;  such  a  scene  !  He  ended  by 
seizing  me  by  the  coat  collar,  and  shaking  me  like  a  plum- 
tree,  to  make  me  tell  him  who  I  am,  who  I  know,  and 
where  I  came  from.  As  if  I  know,  myself  !  •!  was  obliged 
to  account  for  every  minute  of  my  time  since  I  had  been 
in  his  service.  He  was  born  to  be  an  investigating  mag- 
istrate. Then  he  sent  for  the  hotel  waiter,  who  attends 
to  his  rooms,  and  questioned  him  closely,  but  in  English, 
so  that  I  could  not  understand.  After  awhile  he  cooled 
down,  and  when  the  waiter  was  gone,  presented  me  with 
twenty  francs,  saying:  'I  am  sorry  I  was  so  hasty  with 
you  ;  you  are  too  stupid  to  have  been  guilty  of  th^ 
offence.' " 

"  He  said  that,  did  he  ?  " 

"  He  used  those  very  words  to  my  face,  master." 

"  And  you  think  he  meant  what  he  said  ? " 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

The  stout  man  smiled,  and  whistled  in  a  way  that 
showed  that  he  had  a  different  opinion.  "  If  you  think 
that,"  he  said,  "  De  Clameran  was  right.  You  are  not  up 
to  much." 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Joseph  Dubois  was  anxious  to 
give  his  grounds  for  his  opinion,  but  dared  not.  **  I  sup- 
pose  I   am  stupid,  if  you   think  so,"  he   replied  humbly* 


336  FILE  NO.  113. 

"  Well,  after  he  had  done  blustering  about  the  letters,  the 
marquis  dressed  and  went  out.  He  would  not  take  his 
carriage,  but  hired  a  cab  at  the  hotel  door.  I  thought  he 
would  perhaps  disappear  forever ;  but  I  was  mistaken. 
About  five  o'clock  he  returned  as  gay  as  a  lark.  During 
his  absence,  I  telegraphed  to  you." 
"  What !  did  you  not  follow  him  ?  " 
"  No ;  but  one  of  our  friends  did,  and  this  friend  gave 
me  a  report  of  the  dandy's  movements.  First  he  went  to 
a  broker's,  then  to  a  bank  and  a  discount  office.  It  is 
evident  he  is  a  man  of  capital.  I  expect  he  intends  to  go 
on  a  little  trip  somewhere.'' 

"  Is  that  all  he  did  .?  " 

"  That  is  all ;  yes.  But  I  must  tell  you  that  the  ras- 
cals tried  to  get  Mademoiselle  Palmyre  shut  up,  '  admin- 
istratively,' you  understand.  Fortunately,  you  had  antici- 
pated something  of  the  kind,  and  given  orders  so  as  to 
prevent  it.  But  for  you  she  would  now  be  in  prison." 
Joseph  left  off  speaking,  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  by 
way  of  trying  to  remember  whether  he  had  not  something 
more  to  say.  Finding  nothing,  he  added  :  "  That  is  all. 
I  rather  think  M.  Patrigent  will  rub  his  hands  with  de- 
light when  I  take  him  my  report.  He  has  no  idea  of  the 
facts  collected  to  swell  the  size  of  his  File  No.  113." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Joseph  was  right  in  suppos- 
ing that  the  crisis  had  come.  M.  Verduret  was  arranging 
his  plan  of  battle  while  waiting  for  the  report  of  Nina — 
now  Palmyre — upon  which  depended  his  point  of  attack. 

But  Joseph  Dubois  was  restless  and  uneasy.  "What 
am  I  to  do  now,  master  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  Return  to  the  hotel ;  probably  your  master  has  noticed 
your  absence  ;  but  he  will  say  nothing  about  it,  so  con- 
tinue— " 

Here  an  exclamation  from  Prosper,  who  was  standing 
near  the  window,  interrupted  M.  Verduret.  "  What  is 
the  matter  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  De  Clameran  is  there  !  "  replied  Prosper. 

M.  Verduret  and  Joseph  ran  to  the  window.  "  Where 
is  he  ?,"  they  asked. 

*'  There,  at  the  corner  of  the  bridge,  behind  the  orange- 
woman's  stall." 

Prosper  was  right.  It  was  the  noble  Marquis  de  Cla- 
meran, who,  hid  behind  the  stall,  was  watching  for  his 


FILE  NO.  113.  337 

servant  to  come  out  of  the  Grand  Arcliangel.  At  first  the 
quick-sighted  Verduret  had  some  doubts  whether  it  was 
the  marquis,  who,  being  skilled  in  these  hazardous  expe- 
ditions, managed  to  conceal  himself  almost  entirely.  But 
a  moment  came,  when,  elbowed  by  the  pressing  crowd, 
he  was  obliged  to  get  off  the  pavement  in  full  view  of 
the  window.  s 

"  Now  you  see  I  was  right !  "  cried  the  cashier. 

"  Well,"  murmured  Joseph,  convinced,  "  I  am  amazed  !  " 

M.  Verduret  seemed  not  in  the  least  surprised,  but 
quietly  said  :  "  The  hunter  is  now  being  hunted.  Well, 
Joseph,  my  boy,  do  you  still  think  that  your  noble  master 
was  duped  by  your  pretended  injured  innocence  .'' '' 

"You  stated  the  contrary,  sir,"  replied  Joseph  in  a 
humble  tone  ;  "  and  a  statement  from  you  is  more  con- 
vincing than  all  the  proofs  in  the  world." 

"  This  pretended  outburst  of  rage  was  premeditated  on 
the  part  of  your  noble  master.  Knowing  that  he  is  being 
tracked,  he  naturally  wishes  to  discover  who  his  adversa- 
ries are.  You  can  imagine  how  uncomfortable  he  must 
be  whilst  in  this  uncertainty.  Perhaps  he  thinks  his  pur- 
suers are  some  of  his  old  accomplices,  w^ho,  being  hungry, 
want  a  piece  of  his  cake.  He  will  remain  there  until  you 
go  out ;  then  he  will  come  in  to  inquire  who  you  are." 

"  But  I  can  leave  without  his  seeing  me." 

*'  Yes,  I  know.  You  will  climb  the  little  wall  separat- 
ing the  hotel  from  the  wine-merchant's  yard,  and  keep 
along  the  stationer's  area,  until  you  reach  the  Rue  de  la 
Huchette." 

Poor  Joseph  looked  as  if  he  had  just  received  a  bucket  of 
ice-water  upon  his  head.  "  Exactly  the  way  I  was  going," 
he  gasped  out.  "  I  heard  that  you  knew  all  the  houses  in 
Paris,  and  it  certainly  must  be  so." 

The  stout  man  made  no  reply  to  Joseph's  admiring  re- 
marks. He  was  wondering  what  advantage  he  could  reap 
from  De  Clameran's  behavior.  As  to  the  cashier,  he 
listened  wonderingly,  watching  these  strangers,  who  with- 
out any  apparent  reason,  seemed  determined  to  win  the 
difficult  game  in  which  his  honor,  his  happiness,  and  his 
life,  were  the  stake. 

"  I  have  another  idea,"  said  Joseph  after  deep  thought. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

'*  I  can  walk  quietly  out  of  the  front  door,  and  with  my 


338  FILE  NO.  113. 

hands  in  my  pockets  stroll  slowly  back   to  the  Hotel  du 
Louvre." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Well !  then,  De  Clameran  will  come  in  and  question 
Madame  Alexandre,  whom  you  can  instruct  beforehand  ; 
and  she  is  smart  enough  to  put  any  joker  off  the  track." 

"  Bad  plan  !  "  pronounced  M.  Verduret  decidedly  ;  "  a 
scamp  so  compromised  as  De  Clameran  is  not  easily  taken 
in  ;  it  will  be  impossible  to  reassure  him."  His  mind  was 
made  up  ;  for  in  a  brief  tone  of  authority,  which  admitted 
of  no  contradiction,  he  added  :  "  I  have  a  better  plan. 
Has  De  Clameran,  since  he  found  out  that  his  papers  had 
been  touched,  seen  De  Lagors  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  written  to  him  ?  " 

"  I'll  bet  you  my  head  he  has  not.  Having  your  orders 
to  watch  his  correspondence,  I  invented  a  little  system 
which  informs  me  every  time  he  touches  a  pen  ;  during 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  the  pens  have  not  been 
touched." 

"  De  Clameran  v.'ent  out  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  But  the  man  who  followed  him  says  he  wrote  nothing 
on  the  way." 

"  Then  we  have  time  yet !  "  cried  Verduret.  "  Be 
quick !  I  give  you  fifteen  minutes  to  make  yourself 
another  head  ;  you  know  the  sort ;  I  will  watch  the  rascal 
until  you  are  ready." 

"  The  delighted  Joseph  disappeared  in  a  twinkling,  and 
Prosper  and  M.  Verduret  remained  at  the  window  observ- 
ing De  Clameran,  who,  according  to  the  movements  of 
the  crowd,  kept  disappearing  and  reappearing,  but  was 
evidently  determined  not  to  quit  his  post  until  he  had  ob- 
tained the  information  he  sought. 

"  Why  do  you  devote  yourself  exclusively  to  the  mar- 
quis ? "  asked  Prosper. 

"  Because,  my  friend,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  "  because 
— that  is  my  business,  and  not  yours." 

Joseph  Dubois  had  been  granted  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
in  which  to  metamorphose  himself ;  before  ten  minutes 
had  elapsed  he  re-appeared.  The  dandified  coachman 
with  whiskers,  red  vest,  and  foppish  manners,  was  re- 
placed by  a  sinister-looking  individual,  whose  very  appear- 
ance was  enough  to  scare  any  rogue.     His  black  craval 


FILE  NO.  113.  339 

twisted  round  a  paper  collar,  and  ornamented  by  an  imita- 
tion diamond  pin  ;  his  black  frock-coat  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin  ;  his  greasy  hat  and  shiny  boots  and  heavy  cane — re- 
vealed the  myrmidon  of  the  Rue  de  Je'rusalem,  as  plainly 
as  the  uniform  denotes  the  soldier.  Joseph  Dubois  had 
vanished,  and  from  his  livery,  phoenix-like  and  triumphant, 
rose  the  radiant  Fanferlot,  surnamed  the  Squirrel.  When 
he  entered  the  room,  Prosper  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise, 
almost  of  terror.  He  recognized  the  man  who  had 
assisted  the  commissary  of  police  in  his  investigation  at 
the  bank  on  the  day  of  the  robbery. 

M.  Verduret  examined  his  follower  with  a  satisfied 
look,  and  said  :  "  Not  bad !  There  is  enough  of  the 
police-court  air  about  you  to  alarm  even  an  honest  man. 
You  understand   me  perfectly." 

Fanferlot  was  transported  with  delight  at  this  compli- 
ment.    "  What  must  I  do  now,  chief  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"Nothing  difficult  for  a  smart  man:  but  remember, 
upon  the  precision  of  our  movements  depends  the  success 
of  my  plan.  Before  occupying  myself  with  De  Lagors,  I 
wish  to  dispose  of  De  Clameran.  Now  that  the  rascals 
are  separated,  we  must  prevent  their  coming  together 
again." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Fanferlot,  winking  his  eye  ;  "  I 
am  to  create  a  diversion.'^ 

"  Exactly.  Go  out  by  the  Rue  de  la  Huchette,  and 
hasten  to  the  Pont  St.  Michel ;  loaf  along  the  river-bank, 
and  finally  place  yourself  on  some  of  the  steps  of  the  quay, 
so  that  De  Clameran  may  perceive  he  is  being  watched. 
If  he  fails  to  see  you,  do  something  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion." 

"  I  know  !  I  will  throw  a  stone  in  the  water,"  said 
Fanferlot,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight  at  his  own  brill- 
iant idea. 

"  As  soon  as  De  Clameran  has  seen  you,"  continued  M. 
Verduret,  "  he  will  be  alarmed,  and  instantly  decamp. 
You  must  follow  him,  and  he,  knowing  that  the  police  are 
after  him,  will  do  everything  to  escape  you.  You  must 
keep  both  your  eyes  open  for  he  is  a  cunning  rascal." 

"  I  was  not  born  yesterday." 

"  So  much  the  better.  You  can  convince  him  of  that. 
Well,  knowing  you  are  at  his  heels,  he  will  not  dare  to 
return  to  the   Hotel  du  Louvre,  for  fear  of  finding  some 


340  FILE  NO.  113. 

troublesome  visitors  awaiting  him.  Now  it  is  very  impor- 
tant that  he  should  not  return  to  the  hotel." 

"  But  suppose  he  does  ?  "  said  Fanferlot. 

M.  Verduret  thought  for  a  minute,  and  then  replied  :  "  It 
is  not  at  all  likely  ;  but  if  he  should,  you  must  wait  until  he 
comes  out  again,  and  continue  to  follow  him.  But  he 
won't  enter  the  hotel ;  very  likely  he  will  take  the  train  ; 
but  in  that  event  don't  lose  sight  of  him,  no  matter  if  you 
have  to  follow  him  to  Siberia.  Have  you  money  with 
you  ? " 

"  I  will  get  some  from  Madame  Alexandre." 

"  Very  good.  Ah  !  one  word  more.  If  the  rascal  docj 
take  the  train,  send  me  a  line  here.  If  he  beats  about  the 
bush  until  night  time,  be  on  your  guard,  especially  in 
lonely  places  ;  he  is  capable  of  anything." 

"  If  necessary,  may  I  fire  t  " 

"  Don't  be  rash  ;  but,  if  he  attacks  you,  of  course  defend 
yourself.     Come,  'tis  time  you  were  gone." 

"  Dubois-Fanferlot  went  out.  M.  Verduret  and  Pros- 
per resumed  their  post  of  observation.  **  Why  all  this 
secrecy  ?  "  inquired  Prosper.  "  De  Clameran  is  guilty 
of  ten  times  worse  crimes  than  I  was  ever  accused  of,  and 
yet  my  disgrace  was  made  as  public  as  possible." 

"  Don't  you  understand,"  replied  the  stout  man,  "that 
I  wish  to  separate  Raoul's  cause  from  that  of  the  marquis  ? 
But,  hush  !  Look  !  "  De  Clameran  had  left  his  place 
near  the  orange-woman's  stand,  and  approached  the  para- 
pet of  the  bridge,  where  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make 
out  some  unexpected  object.  "  Ah  !  "  murmured  M.  Ver- 
duret ;  "  he  has  just  discovered  our  man."  De  Clameran's 
uneasiness  was  quite  apparent ;  he  walked  forward  a  few- 
steps,  as  if  intending  to  cross  the  bridge ;  then,  suddenly 
turning  round,  walked  rapidly  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
Rue  St.  Jacques.  "  He  is  caught !  "  cried  M.  Verduret 
with  delight. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Madame  Nina 
Gipsy,  alias  Palmyre  Chocareille,  entered.  Poor  Nina  ! 
Each  day  since  she  entered  Madeleine's  service  seemed  to 
have  aged  her  a  year.  Tears  had  dimmed  the  brilliancy 
of  her  beautiful  black  eyes  ;  her  rosy  cheeks  were  pale 
and  hollow,  and  her  merry  smile  was  quite  gone.  Poor 
Gipsy,  once  so  gay  and  spirited,  now  crushed  beneath  the 
burden  of  her  sorrows,  was  the  picture  of  misery.     Pros- 


PILE  XO.  It 3.  341 

per  thought  that,  wild  with  joy  at  seeing  him,  and  proud 
of  having  so  nobly  devoted  herself  to  his  interests,  Nina 
would  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  hold  him  in  a 
tight  embrace.  He  was  mistaken  ;  and  though  entirely 
devoted  to  Madeleine  since  he  knew  the  reason  of  her 
harshness  to  him,  his  deception  affected  him  deeply.  Nina 
scarcely  seemed  to  know  him.  She  saluted  him  timidly, 
almost  like  a  stranger.  She  stood  looking  at  M.  Verduret 
with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  devotion,  like  a  poor  dog  that 
has  been  cruelly  treated  by  its  master. 

He,  however,  was  kind  and  gentle  in  his  manner  towards 
her.  "  Well,  my  dear,"  he  asked  encouragingly,  "  what 
news  do  you  bring  me  ?  " 

"  Something  is  going  on  at  the  house,  sir,  and  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  here  to  tell  you  ;  at  last.  Mademoiselle 
Madeleine  made  an  excuse  for  sending  me  out." 

"  You  must  thank  her  for  her  confidence  in  me.  I  sup- 
pose she  carried  out  the  plan  we  decided  upon  .'*  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  She  receives  the  Marquis  de  Clameran's  visits  ?  " 

"  Since  the  marriage  has  been  decided  upon,  he  comes 
every  day,  and  mademoiselle  receives  him  with  kindness. 
He  seems  to  be  delighted." 

These  answers  filled  Prosper  with  anger  and  alarm. 
The  poor  fellow,  not  comprehending  M.  Verduret's  intri- 
cate moves,  felt  as  if  he  were  being  tossed  about  from 
pillar  to  post,  and  made  the  tool  and  laughing-stock  of 
everybody.  "  What !  "  he  cried  ;  "  this  worthless  Marquis 
de  Clameran,  an  assassin,  and  a  thief,  allowed  to  visit  at 
M.  Fauvel's  and  pay  his  addresses  to  Madeleine  ?  Where 
are  the  promises  which  you  made  me,  sir  ?  Have  you 
merely  been  amu'^-ing  yourself  by  raising  my  hopes,  to  dash 
them — " 

*'  Enough  !  "  interrupted  M.  Verduret  harshly  ;  "  you  are 
really  too  good  a  young  man  to  understand  anything,  my 
friend.  If  you  are  incapable  of  helping  yourself,  at  least 
have  sense  enough  to  refrain  from  stupidly  importuning 
those  who  are  working  for  you.  Do  you  not  think  you 
have  already  done  sufficient  mischief  ?  "  Having  admin- 
istered this  rebuke,  he  turned  to  Nina,  and  said  in  softer 
tones  :  "  Go  on,  my  child  ;  what  have  you  discovered  ?  " 

"  Nothing  positive,  sir  ;  but  enough  to  make  me  nervous, 
and  fearful  of  impending  danger,     I  am  not  certain,  bui 


342  FILE  NO.  113 

suspect  from  appearances,  that  some  dreadful  catastrophe 
is  about  to  happen.  It  may  only  be  a  presentiment.  I 
cannot  get  any  information  from  Madame  Fauvel  ;  she 
moves  about  like  a  ghost,  never  opening  her  lips.  She 
seems  to  be  afraid  of  her  niece,  and  to  be  trying  to  con- 
ceal something  from  her." 

"  What  about  M.  Fauvel .?  " 

"  I  was  just  about  to  tell  you,  sir.  Some  fearful  mis- 
fortune has  happened  to  him,  you  may  depend  upon 
it.  He  wanders  about  as  if  he  had  lost  his  mind.  Some- 
thing certainly  occurred  yesterday  ;  his  voice  even  is 
changed.  He  is  so  harsh  and  irritable  that  mademoiselle 
and  M.  Lucien  were  wondering  what  could  be  the  matter 
with  him.  He  seems  to  be  on  the  eve  of  giving  way  to  a 
burst  of  anger ;  and  there  is  a  wild,  strange  look  about  his 
eyes,  especially  when  he  looks  at  madame.  Yesterday 
evening,  when  M.  de  Clameran  was  announced,  he  jumped 
up,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room,  saying  that  he  had  some 
work  to  do  in  his  study." 

A  triumphant  exclamation  from  M.  Verduret  interrupted 
Nina.  He  was  radiant.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said  to  Prosper,  for- 
getting his  bad  humor  of  a  few  minutes  before ;  "  ah  ! 
what  did  I  tell  you  .?  " 

"  He  has  evidently — " 

"Been  afraid  to  give  way  to  his  first  impulse  ;  of  course 
he  has.  He  is  now  seeking  for  proofs  of  your  assertions. 
He  must  have  then  by  this  time.  Did  the  ladies  go  out 
yesterday }  " 

"  Yes,  a  part  of  the  day." 

"  What  became  of  M.  Fauvel  ?  " 

"  The  ladies  took  me  with  them ;  we  left  M.  Fauvel  ai 
home." 

"There  is  no  longer  a  doubt,  now!"  cried  the  stout 
man  ;  "  he  looked  for  proofs,  and  found  them  too  !  Your 
letter  told  him  exactly  where  to  go.  Ah,  Prosper,  that  un- 
fortunate letter  gives  more  trouble  tlian  everything  else 
together." 

These  words  seemed  to  throw  a  sudden  light  on  Nina's 
mind.  "  I  understand  it  now  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  M. 
Fauvel  knows  everything." 

"  That  is,  he  thinks  he  knows  everything ;  and  what  he 
has  been  led  to  believe,  is  worse  than  the  true  state  of 
affairs." 


FILE  NO.  113.  343 

"  That  accounts  for  the  order  which  M.  Cavaillon  ovei' 
heard  him  give  to  his  valet,  Evariste." 

"  What  order  ?  " 

"  He  told  Evariste  to  bring  every  letter  that  came  to 
the  house,  no  matter  to  whom  addressed,  into  his  study, 
and  hand  it  to  him  ;  saying  that,  if  this  order  was  diso- 
beyed, he  should  be  instantly  discharged." 

"  At  what  time  was  this  order  given  ?  "  asked  M.  Ver- 
duret. 

"  Yesterday  afternoon." 

"  That  is  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  cried  M.  Verduret. 
"  He  has  clearly  made  up  his  mind  what  course  to  pursue, 
and  is  keeping  quiet  so  as  to  make  his  vengeance  more  sure. 
The  question  is.  Have  we  still  time  to  counteract  his  pro- 
jects ?  Have  we  time  to  convince  him  that  the  anonymous 
letter  was  incorrect  in  some  of  its  assertions  1 " 

He  tried  to  hit  upon  some  plan  for  repairing  the  dam- 
age done  by  Prosper's  foolish  letter.  "  Thank  you  for 
your  information,  my  dear  child,"  he  said  after  a  long 
silence.  "  I  will  decide  at  once  what  steps  to  take,  for  it 
will  never  do  to  sit  quietly  and  let  things  go  on  in  this  way. 
Return  home  without  delay,  and  be  careful  of  everything 
you  say  and  do ;  for  M.  Fauvel  suspects  you  of  being  in 
the  plot.  Send  me  w^ord  of  anything  that  happens,  no 
matter  how  insignificant  it  may  be." 

Nina,  thus  dismissed,  did  not  move,  but  asked  timidly  : 
"  What  about  Caldas,  sir  }  " 

This  was  the  third  time  during  the  last  fortnight  that 
Prosper  had  heard  this  name,  Caldas.  The  first  time,  it 
had  been  whispered  in  his  ear  by  a  respectable-looking, 
middle-aged  man,  w^ho  promised  him  his  protection  on  one 
of  the  days  he  was  at  the  Prefecture.  The  second  time, 
the  investigating  magistrate  had  mentioned  it  in  connec- 
tion with  Nina's  history.  Prosper  thought  over  all  the 
men  he  had  ever  been  connected  with,  but  could  recall 
none  named  Caldas. 

The  impassible  M.  Verduret  started  and  trembled  at 
the  sound  of  this  name,  but,  quickly  recovering  himself, 
said-.  "I  promised  to  find  him  for  3'ou,  and  I  will  keep 
my  promise.     Now  you  must  go  ;  good-by." 

It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  M.  Verduret  suddenly  re- 
membered that  he  was  hungry.  He  called  jNIadame  Alex- 
andre, and  the  all-powerful  hostess  of  the  Grand  Archan- 


344  FILE  NO.  113. 

gel  soon  placed  a  tempting  breakfast  before  Prosper  and 
his  protector.  But  the  dainty  meal  failed  to  smooth  M. 
Verduret's  perplexed  brow.  To  the  eager  questions  and 
complimentary  remarks  of  Madame  Alexandre,  he  merely 
answered  :  "  Hush,  hush  !  let  me  alone  ;  keep  quiet." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  the  stout  man, 
Prosper  saw  him  betray  anxiety  and  hesitation.  He  re- 
mained silent  as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  uneasily  said  : 
"  I  am  afraid  I  have  embarrassed  you  very  much,  sir." 

"  Yes,  you  have  dreadfully  embarrassed  me,"  replied 
M.  Verduret.  "  What  on  earth  to  do  now,  I  don't  know  ! 
Shall  I  hasten  matters,  or  keep  quiet  and  wait  for  the  next 
move  ?  And  I  am  bound  by  a  sacred  promise.  Come,  I 
must  go  and  consult  the  investigating  magistrate.  He  can 
perhaps  assist  me.     You  had  better  come  too." 


XXHI. 

As  M.  Verduret  had  anticipated,  Prosper's  anonymous 
letter  had  a  terrible  effect  upon  M.  Fauvel.  It  was  morn- 
ing. M.  Fauvel  had  just  entered  his  study  to  attend  to 
his  correspondence.  After  opening  a  dozen  letters  on 
business,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  fatal  missive.  Something 
about  the  handwriting  struck  him  as  peculiar.  It  was  evi- 
dently disguised,  and  although,  owing  to  the  fact  of  his 
being  a  millionaire,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  anony- 
mous communications,  sometimes  abusive,  but  generally 
begging  for  money,  this  particular  letter  filled  him  with  a 
presentiment  of  evil.  With  absolute  certainty  that  he 
was  about  to  read  of  some  calamity,  he  broke  the  seal, 
and  unfolding  the  coarse  writing-paper  of  the  caf(^,  com- 
menced to  read.  What  he  read  was  a  terrible  blow  to  a 
man  whose  life  hitherto  had  been  an  unbroken  chain  of 
prosperity,  who  could  recall  the  past  without  one  bitter 
regret,  without  remembering  any  sorrow  deep  enough  to 
bring  forth  a  tear.  What !  his  wife  deceive  him  !  And 
among  all  men,  to  choose  one  vile  enough  to  rob  her  of 
her  jewels,  and  force  her  to  be  his  accomplice  in  the  ruin 
of  an  innocent  young  man  !  For  did  not  the  letter  before 
him  assert  this  to  be  the  fact,  and  tell  him  how  to  convince 
himself  of  its  truth  ?  M.  Fauvel  was  as  bewildered  as  if 
he  had  been  knocked  on  the  head  with  a  club.     It  was 


FILE  NO.  113.  34S 

impossible  for  his  scattered  ideas  to  take  in  the  enormicv 
of  what  these  dreadful  words  intimated.  He  seemed  to 
be  mentally  and  physically  paralyzed,  as  he  sat  there  star- 
ing blankly  at  the  letter.  But  in  a  few  minutes  his  rea- 
son returned. 

"What  infamous  cowardice  !  "  he  cried  ;  *'  it  is  abomina- 
ble !  "  And  he  angrily  crumpled  up  the  letter  and  threw 
it  into  the  empty  fireplace,  adding  :  "  I  will  forget  having 
read  it.  I  will  not  soil  my  mind  by  letting  it  dwell  upon 
such  turpitude  !  " 

He  said  this,  and  he  thought  it ;  but,  for  all  that,  he 
could  not  open  the  rest  of  his  letters.  That  penetrating, 
clinging,  all-corroding  worm,  suspicion,  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  his  soul  ;  and  he  leaned  over  his  desk,  with  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands,  vainly  endeavoring  to  recover 
his  habitual  calmness  of  mind.  "  Supposing,  though,  that 
the  letter  stated  the  truth  !  "  At  the  thought,  his  dejec- 
tion of  the  first  few  minutes  gave  way  to  the  most  violent 
rage.  "  Ah  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  his  \vrath,  "  if  I  only  knew 
the  scoundrel  who  dared  to  write  this ;  if  I  only  had  him 
here  !  "  Thinking  that  the  handwriting  might  throw  some 
light  on  the  mystery,  he  picked  the  fatal  letter  out  of  the 
fireplace.  Carefully  smoothing  it  out  he  laid  it  on  his 
desk,  and  studied  the  up  strokes,  the  down  strokes,  and 
the  capitals  of  every  word.  "  It  must  be  from  one  of  my 
clerks,"  he  thought,  "  who  is  angry  with  me  for  having  re- 
fused to  raise  his  salary ;  or  for  some  other  reason." 
Clinging  to  this  idea,  he  thought  over  all  the  young  men 
in  his  bank ;  but  not  one  could  he  believe  capable  of  re- 
sorting to  so  base  a  vengeance.  Then  he  wondered  where 
the  letter  had  been  posted,  thinking  this  might  throw  some 
light  on  the  mystery.  He  looked  at  the  envelope,  an.l 
read  on  the  post-mark,  "  Rue  du  Cardinal  Lemoine." 
This  fact  told  him  nothing.  Once  more  he  read  the  let- 
ter through,  spelling  over  each  word,  and  analyzing  every 
sentence  it  contained.  It  is  the  custom  to  treat  anony- 
mous letters  with  silent  contempt,  as  the  malicious  lies  of 
cowards  who  dare  not  say  to  a  man's  face  what  they  se- 
cretly commit  to  paper.  Yet  what  innumerable  catastr*^- 
phes  can  be  traced  to  no  other  origin.  One  throws  the 
letters  in  the  fire,  but,  although  the  paper  is  destroyed  by 
the  flames,  doubts  remain,  and,  like  a  subtle  poison,  pene- 
trate the  inmost  recesses  of  the  mind,  weaken  its  holiest 


346  FILE  NO.  113. 

beliefs,  and  destroy  its  faith.  The  wife  suspected,  no  mat* 
ter  how  unjustly,  is  no  longer  the  wife  in  whom  her  hus- 
band trusted  as  he  would  trust  himself.  Suspicion,  no 
matter  whence  the  source,  has  irrevocably  tarnished  the 
brightness  of  his  idol.  Unable  to  struggle  any  longer 
against  these  conflicting  doubts,  M.  Fauvel  determined  to 
resolve  them  by  showing  the  letter  to  his  wife  ;  but  a  shock 
ing  thought,  more  torturing  than  a  red-hot  iron  burning 
his  flesh,  made  him  sink  back  in  his  chair  in  despair. 
"  Suppose  it  be  true  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself  ;  *'  suppose 
I  have  been  miserably  duped  !  By  confiding  in  my  wife, 
I  shall  put  her  on  her  guard,  and  lose  all  chance  of  dis- 
covering the  truth." 

Thus  were  realized  all  M.  Verduret's  presumptions. 
He  had  said,  "  If  M.  Fauvel  does  not  yield  to  his  first  im- 
pulse, if  he  stops  to  reflect,  we  have  time  to  repair  the 
harm  done."  And  after  long  and  painful  meditation,  the 
banker  had  finally  decided  to  wait  and  watch  his  wife. 
It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  a  man  of  his  frank,  upright  nat- 
ure, to  play  the  part  of  a  domestic  spy,  and  jealous  hus- 
band. Accustomed  to  give  way  to  sudden  bwrsts  of  anger, 
but  quickly  mastering  them,  he  would  find  it  difficult  to 
preserve  his  self-restraint,  to  maintain  silence  until  his 
proofs  were  overwhelming.  There  was  one  simple  means 
of  ascertaining  the  truth.  The  letter  stated  that  his  wife's 
diamonds  had  been  pawned.  If  it  lied  in  this  instance, 
he  would  treat  it  with  the  scorn  it  deserved.  But  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  should  prove  to  be  true  !  At  this  mo- 
ment, the  servant  announced  that  lunch  was  served,  and 
M.  Fauvel  looked  in  the  glass  before  leaving  his  study,  to 
see  if  face  betrayed  the  emotion  he  felt.  He  was  shocked 
at  the  sight  of  his  haggard  features.  "  Shall  I  be  able  tc 
control  my  feelings  ?"  he  asked  himself.  At  table  he  did 
his  utmost  to  look  unconcerned,  he  talked  incessantly, 
related  several  stories,  hoping  thus  to  distract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  others.  But,  all  the  time  he  was  talking,  he 
was  casting  over  in  his  mind  various  expedients  for  get- 
ting his  wife  out  of  the  house  long  enough  for  him  to  search 
her  room.  At  last  he  asked  Madame  Fauvel  if  she  were 
going  out  at  all  that  day. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  the  weather  is  dreadful,  but  Made 
leine  and  I  have  some  pressing  matters  to  see  after/' 

"  At  what  time  do  you  think  of  starting  ? " 


Lau  >  s    Mcrritll 


'' '  Ah,'  ho  saiil.  with  a  li(»ri-il)k'  hiiigh,  "  vuu  iDok  surprised.' 


FILE  NO.  113.  347 

"  Immediately  after  lunch." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  as  if  relieved  of  a  great  weight. 
In  a  short  time  he  would  be  able  to  learn  the  truth.  His 
uncertainty  was  so  torturing  to  the  unhappy  man  that  to  it 
he  preferred  anything,  even  the  most  dreadful  reality. 
Lunch  over,  he  lighted  a  cigar,  but  did  not  remain  in  the 
dining-room  to  smoke  it,  as  was  his  habit.  He  went  into 
his  study,  pretending  he  had  some  pressing  work  to  attend 
to.  He  took  the  precaution  to  send  Lucien  out  so  as  to 
be  quite  alone.  After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  he  heard 
the  carriage  drive  away  with  his  wife  and  niece.  Hurry- 
ing into  Madame  Fauvel's  room,  he  opened  her  jewel 
drawer.  Several  of  the  cases  he  knew  she  possessed  were 
missing,  those  that  remained — there  were  ten  or  twelve  of 
them — were  empty.  The  anonymous  letter  had  told  the 
truth.  "  Oh,  it  cannot  be  !  "  he  gasped  in  broken  tones. 
*'  It  is  not  possible  !  "  He  wildly  pulled  open  other  draw- 
ers in  the  hope  of  finding  the  jewels.  Perhaps  his  wife 
kept  them  elsewhere.  She  might  have  sent  some  of  them 
to  be  reset,  and  others  to  be  mended.  But  he  found  noth- 
ing !  He  then  recollected  the  Jandidier  ball,  and  that  he, 
full  of  pride,  had  said  to  his  wife  :  "  Why  don't  you  wear 
your  diamonds  1 "  She  had  smilingly  replied  :  "  Oh  ! 
what  is  the  use  ?  Everybody  knows  them  so  well  ;  I  shall 
be  more  noticed  if  I  don't  wear  them  ;  and  besides,  they 
wouldn't  suit  my  costume."  Yes,  she  had  made  this  an- 
swer without  blushing,  without  showing  the  slightest  sign 
of  agitation.  What  barefaced  Impudence  !  What  base 
hypocrisy  concealed  beneath  an  innocent,  confiding  man- 
ner !  And  she  had  been  thus  deceiving  him  for  twenty 
years  !  But  suddenly  a  gleam  of  hope  penetrated  his  con- 
fused mind — slight,  barely  possible  ;  still  a  straw  to  cling 
to — "  Perhaps  Valentine  has  put  her  diamonds  in  Made- 
leine's room."  Without  stopping  to  consider  the  indeli- 
cacy of  what  he  was  about  to  do,  he  hurried  into  the  young 
girl's  room,  and  pulled  open  one  drawer  after  another. 
He  did  not  find  his  wife's — not  Madame  Fauvel's  dia- 
monds— but  he  discovered  seven  or  eight  jewel  cases  be- 
longing to  Madeleine,  and  all  empty.  Great  heavens  ! 
Was  this  gentle  girl,  whom  he  had  treated  as  a  daughter, 
an  accomplice  in  this  deed  of  shame  ?  This  last  blow  was 
too  much  for  the  miserable  man.  He  sank  almost  lifeless 
into  a  chair,  and  wrin^ng  his  hands,  groaned  over  the 


348  FILE  NO.  113. 

wreck  of  his  happiness.  Was  this  the  happy  future  to 
which  he  had  looked  forward  ?  Was  the  fabric  of  his 
honor,  well-being  and  domestic  bliss,  to  be  dashed  to  the 
earth  and  forever  lost  in  a  day  ?  Seemingly  nothing  was 
changed  in  his  existence  ;  he  was  not  materially  injured; 
the  objects  around  him  remained  the  same  ;  and  yet  what 
a  commotion  had  taken  place,  a  commotion  more  unheard 
of,  more  surprising  than  the  changing  to  night  into  day. 
What  !  Valentine,  the  pure  3^oung  girl  whom  he  had  so 
loved  and  married  in  spite  of  her  poverty;  Valentine,  the 
tender,  loving  wife,  who  had  become  dearer  and  dearer  to 
him  as  years  rolled  on  ;  could  she  have  been  deceiving 
him  ?  She,  the  mother  of  his  sons  !  His  sons  ?  Bitter 
thought !  Were  they  his  sons  ?  If  she  could  deceive  him 
now  when  she  was  silver-haired  had  she  not  deceived  him 
when  she  was  young  ?  Not  only  did  he  suffer  in  the  pres- 
ent, but  the  uncertainty  of  the  past  tortured  his  soul. 

M.  Fauvel  did  not  long  remain  in  this  dejected  state. 
Anger  and  a  thirst  for  vengeance  gave  him  fresh  strength, 
and  he  determined  to  sell  his  past  happiness  dearly.  He 
well  knew  that  the  fact  of  the  diamonds  being  missing  was 
not  sufficient  ground  upon  which  to  base  an  accusation. 
But  he  had  plenty  of  means  of  procuring  other  proofs. 
He  began  by  calling  his  valet,  and  ordering  hnn  to  bring 
to  him  every  letter  that  should  come  to  the  house.  He 
then  telegraphed  to  a  notary  at  St.  Remy,  for  minute  and 
authentic  information  about  the  De  Lagors  family,  and 
especially  about  Raoul.  Finally,  following  the  advice  of 
the  anonymous  letter,  he  went  to  the  Prefecture  of  Po- 
lice, hoping  to  obtain  De  Clameran's  biography.  But  the 
police,  fortunately  for  many  people,  are  as  discreetly  si- 
lent as  the  grave.  They  guard  their  secrets  as  a  miser 
his  treasure.  Nothing  but  an  order  from  the  Public  Prose- 
cutor could  reveal  the  secrets  of  those  terrible  green  boxes 
which  are  kept  in  an  apartment  by  themselves,  guarded 
like  a  banker's  strong-room.  M.  Fauvel  was  politely  asked 
what  motives  urged  him  to  inquire  into  the  past  life  of  a 
French  citizen  ;  and,  as  he  declined  to  state  his  reasons, 
he  was  told  he  had  better  apply  to  the  above-mentioned 
functionary.  This  advice  he  could  not  follow.  He  had 
sworn  that  the  secret  of  his  wrongs  should  be  confined  to 
the  three  persons  interested. '  He  chose  to  avenge  his  own 
injuries,  to  be  alone  the  judge  and  executioner.     He  ro* 


FILE  NO.  113.  345 

turned  home  more  enraged  than  ever  ;  there  he  found  a 
telegram  answering  the  one  which  he  had  sent  to  St.  Remy. 
It  was  as  follows  •  "  The  De  Lagors  are  very  poor,  and 
there  has  never  been  any  member  of  the  family  named 
Raoul.  Madame  De  Lagors  has  no  son,  only  two  daugh- 
ters." This  information  was  the  final  blow.  The  banker 
thought,  when  he  discovered  his  wife's  infamy,  that  she 
had  sinned  as  deeply  as  woman  could  sin  ;  but  he  now 
saw  that  she  had  practised  a  deception  more  shocking  than 
the  crime  itself. 

"  Wretched  creature  !  "  he  cried  with  anguish  ;  "  in  order 
to  see  her  lover  constantly,  she  dared  present  him  to  me 
under  the  name  of  a  nephew  who  never  existed.  She  had 
the  shameless  courage  to  introduce  him  beneath  my  roof, 
and  seat  him  at  my  fireside,  between  myself  and  my  sons  ; 
and  I,  confiding  fool  that  I  was,  welcomed  the  villain,  and 
lent  him  money." 

Nothing  could  equal  the  pain  of  wounded  pride  and 
mortification  which  he  suffered  at  the  thought  that  Raoul 
and  Madame  Fauvel  had  amused  themselves  with  his  good- 
natured  credulity.  Nothing  but  death  could  wipe  out  an 
injury  of  this  nature.  But  the  very  bitterness  of  his  re- 
sentment enabled  him  to  restrain  himself  until  the  time 
for  punishment  came.  With  grim  satisfaction  he  promised 
himself  that  his  acting  would  be  as  successful  as  theirs. 
That  day  he  succeeded  in  concealing  his  agitation,  and 
kept  up  a  flow  of  talk  during  the  whole  time  the  dinner 
lasted.  But  at  about  nine  o'clock,  when  De  Clameran 
called,  he  hastened  from  the  house,  for  fear  that  he  would 
be  unable  to  control  his  indignation,  and  did  not  return 
home  until  late  in  the  night.  The  next  day  he  reaped  the 
fruit  of  his  prudence.  Among  the  letters  which  his  valet 
brought  him  at  noon,  was  one  bearing  the  post-mark  of 
Vesinet  He  carefully  opened  the  envelope,  and  read, 
*'  Dear  Aunt, — It  is  imperatively  necessary  for  me  to  see 
you  to-day ;  so  I  expect  you.  I  will  explain  why  I  am' 
prevented  from  calling  at  your  house.     Raoul." 

"  I  have  them  now  I  "  cried  M.  Fauvel,  trembling  with 
satisfaction  at  the  near  prospect  of  vengeance.  Eager  to 
lose  no  time,  he  opened  a  drawer,  took  out  a  revolver,  and 
examined  the  hammer  to  see  if  it  worked  easily.  He  cer- 
tainly imagined  himself  alone,  but  a  vigilant  eye  was  watch- 
ing his  movements.    Nina  immediately  upon  her  return  f roro 


350  FILE  NO.  113. 

the  Grand  Archangel,  stationed  herself  at  the  key-hole  of 
the  study-door,  and  saw  all  that  occurred.  M.  Fauvel  laid 
the  weapon  on  the  mantle-piece,  and  nervously  resealed 
the  letter,  which  he  then  took  to  the  place  where  the  let- 
ters were  usually  left,  not  wishing  his  wife  to  know  that 
Raoul's  letter  had  passed  through  his  hands.  He  was  only 
absent  a  few  minutes,  but  inspired  by  the  imminence  of  the 
danger,  Nina  darted  into  the  study,  and  rapidly  extracted 
the  cartridges  from  the  revolver.  "  By  this  means,"  she 
murmured,  "  the  immediate  peril  is  averted,  and  M.  Ver- 
duret  will  now  perhaps  have  time  to  act.  I  must  send 
Cavaillon  to  tell  him  what  is  happening." 

She  hurried  down  stairs,  and  sent  the  clerk  with  a  mes- 
sage, teliiag  him  to  leave  it  with  Madame  Alexandre,  if 
M.  Verdurei  had  left  the  hotel.  An  hour  later,  Madame 
Fauvel  ordered  her  carriage,  and  went  out.  M.  Fauvel 
jumped  into  a  hackney-coach,  and  followed  her. 

"  God  grant  that  M.  Verduret  may  be  in  time  ! "  said 
Nina  to  herself,  "otherwise  Madame  Fauvel  and  Raoul 
are  lost." 


XXIV 

The  day  that  the  Marquis  de  Clameran  perceived  that 
Raoul  de  Lagors  was  the  only  obstacle  between  him  and 
Madeleine,  he  swore  that  the  obstacle  should  be  removed. 
He  at  once  took  steps  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  pur- 
pose. As  Raoul  was  walking  home  at  Vesinet  about  mid- 
night, he  was  assailed  at  a  lonely  spot  not  far  from  the 
station  by  three  men,  who,  determined,  so  they  said,  to  see 
the  time  by  his  watch,  fell  upon  him  suddenly,  and  but  for 
Raoul's  wonderful  strength  and  agility,  would  have  left 
him  dead  on  the  spot.  As  it  was,  he  soon,  by  his  skilfully 
plied  blows,  for  he  was  a  proficient  in  fencing,  and  had 
learnt  boxing  in  England,  made  his  enemies  take  to  their 
heels.  He  quietly  continued  his  walk  home,  fully  deter- 
mined in  future,  to  be  well  armed  when  he  went  out  at 
night.  He  never  for  an  instant  suspected  his  accofnplice 
of  having  instigated  the  assault.  But  two  days  afterwards, 
while  sitting  in  a  caf^  he  frequented,  a  burly,  vulgar-look- 
ing man,  a  stranger  to  him,  tried  to  draw  him  into  a  quarrel 
about  nothing,  and  finally  threw  a  card  in  his  face,  saying 


FILE  N&.  113.  351 

he  was  ready  to  grant  him  satisfaetion  when  and  where  he 
pleased.  Raoul  rushed  towards  the  man  to  chastise  him 
on  the  spot ;  but  his  friends  held  him  back. 

'*  Very  well,  then,"  said  he  ;  "  be  at  home  to-morrow 
morning,  sir,  and  I  will  send  two  of  my  friends  to  you."  As 
soon  as  the  stranger  had  left,  Raoul  recovered  from  his 
excitement,  and  began  to  wonder  what  could  have  been 
the  motive  for  this  evidently  premeditated  insult.  Picking 
up  the  card  of  the  bully,  he  read  : 

W.  H.  B.  Jacobson. 

Formerly  Garibaldian  volunteer. 

Ex-staj^-officer  of  the  at'mies  of  the  Souths 

(Italy,  America). 

30,  Rue  Leonie. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  thought  Raoul,  "  this  glorious  soldier  may 
very  possibly  have  won  his  laurels  in  a  fencing  school !  " 

Still  the  insult  had  been  offered  in  the  presence  of  others  ; 
and,  no  matter  who  the  offender  was,  it  must  be  noticed. 
Raoul  requested  two  of  his  friends  to  call  upon  M.  Jacob- 
son  early  the  next  morning,  and  make  arrangements  for 
the  duel.  It  was  settled  that  they  should  render  him  a» 
account  of  their  mission  at  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  where  he 
arranged  to  sleep.  Everything  being  arranged,  Raoul 
went  out  to  find  out  something  about  M.  Jacobson.  He 
was  an  expert  at  the  business,  but  he  had  considerable 
trouble.  The  information  he  obtained  was  not  very  prom- 
ising. M.  Jacobson,  who  lived  in  a  very  suspicious-look- 
ing little  hotel,  frequented  chiefiy  by  women  of  loose  char- 
acter, was  described  to  him  as  an  eccentric  gentleman, 
whose  means  of  livelihood  was  a  problem  difficult  to  solve. 
He  reigned  despotically  at  an  ordinary  near  by,  went  out 
a  great  deal,  came  home  very  late,  and  seemed  to  have  no 
-capital  to  live  upon,  save  his  military  titles,  his  talent  for 
entertaining,  and  a  notable  quantity  of  various  expedients. 

"  That  being  his  character,"  thought  Raoul,  "  I  cannot 
see  what  object  he  can  have  in  picking  a  quarrel  with  me. 
What  good  will  it  do  him  to  run  a  sword  through  my  body  ? 
Not  the  slightest ;  and,  moreover,  his  pugnacious  conduct 
is  apt  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  police,  who,  from  what 
I  hear,  are  the  last  people  this  warrior  would  like  to  hav« 


3S2  FILE  NO.  113. 

after  him.     Therefore,  for  acting  as  he  has  done,  he  must 
have  some  reasons  which  I  am  unable  to  discern." 

The  result  of  his  meditations  was,  that  Raoul,  upon  his 
return  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre,  did  not  mention  a  word  of 
his  adventure  to  De  Clameran,  whom  he  still  found  up. 
At  half-past  eight  his  seconds  arrived.  M.  Jacobson  had 
agreed  to  fight,  and  had  chosen  the  sword  ;  but  it  must  be 
that  very  hour,  in  the  Bois  de  Vincennes.  Raoul  felt  very- 
uneasy,  nevertheless  he  boldly  said  :  "  I  accept  the  gentle- 
man's conditions."  They  went  to  the  place  decided  upon, 
and  after  an  interchange  of  a  few  thrusts  Raoul  was 
slightly  wounded  in  the  right  shoulder.  The  "  Ex-staff- 
officer  of  the  armies  of  the  South  "  wished  to  continue  the 
combat  •  but  Raoul's  seconds — brave  young  men — de- 
clared that  honor  was  satisfied,  and  that  they  had  no  in- 
tention of  subjecting  their  friend's  life  to  unnecessary  haz- 
ards. The  ex-officer  was  forced  to  submit,  and  unwillingly 
retired  from  the  field.  Raoul  went  home  delighted  at 
having  escaped  with  nothing  more  serious  than  a  little  loss 
of  blood,  and  resolved  to  keep  clear  of  all  so-called  Gari- 
baldians  in  the  future.  In  fact,  a  night's  reflection  had 
convinced  him.  that  De  Clameran  was  the  instigator  of  the 
two  attempts  on  his  life.  Madame  Fauvel  having  told  him 
what  conditions  Madeleine  placed  on  her  consent  to  marry, 
Raoul  instantly  saw  how  necessary  Ii'.:  removal  would  be, 
now  that  he  was  an  impediment  in  the  way  of  De  Cla- 
meran's  success.  He  recalled  a  thousand  insignificant 
events  of  the  last  few  days,  and,  on  skilfully  questioning 
the  marquis,  had  his  suspicions  changed  into  certainty. 
This  conviction  that  the  man  whom  he  had  so  materially 
assisted  in  his  criminal  plans,  had  hired  assassins  to  make 
away  with  him,  made  him  mad  with  rage.  This  treason 
seemed,  to  him,  monstrous.  He  was  as  yet  not  sufficiently 
experienced  in  ruffianism  to  know  that  one  villain  always 
sacrifices  another  to  advance  his  own  projects ;  he  was 
credulous  enough  to  believe  in  the  old  adage,  of  "  honor 
amongst  thieves."  His  rage  was  naturally  mingled  with 
fright,  well  knowing  that  his  life  hung  by  a  thread,  when 
it  was  threatened  by  a  daring  scoundrel  like  De  Clameran. 
He  had  twice  miraculously  escaped  ;  a  third  attempt  would 
more  than  likely  prove  fatal.  Knowing  his  accomplice's 
nature,  Raoul  saw  himself  surrounded  by  snares  ;  he  saw 
death  before  him  in  every  form  ;  he  was  equally  afraid  of 


FILE  NO.  113.  353 

going  out,  and  of  remaining  at  home.  He  only  ventured 
with  the  most  suspicious  caution  into  the  most  public 
places  ;  he  feared  poison  as  much  as  the  assassin's  knife, 
and  imagined  that  every  dish  placed  before  him  tasted  of 
strychnine.  This  life  of  torture  was  intolerable,  so  with  a 
desire  for  revenge  as  much  as  with  a  view  of  securing  his 
personal  safety,  he  determined  to  anticipate  a  struggle 
which  he  felt  must  terminate  in  the  death  of  either  l)e 
Clameran  or  himself.  "Better  kill  the  devil,"  said  he, 
"  than  be  killed  by  hmi."  In  his  days  of  poverty,  Raoul 
had  often  risked  his  liberty  to  obtain  a  few  guineas,  and 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  make  short  work  of  a  person 
like  De  Clameran.  But  with  money  prudence  had  come. 
He  wished  to  enjoy  his  four  hundred  thousand  francs  with- 
out being  compromised  by  committing  a  murder  which 
might  be  discovered  ;  he  therefore  began  to  devise  some 
other  means  of  getting  rid  of  his  dreaded  accomplice.  In 
the  mean  time,  he  thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
thwart  De  Clameran's  marriage  with  Madeleine.  He  was 
sure  that  he  would  thus  strike  him  to  the  heart,  and  this 
was  at  least  a  satisfaction.  Raoul  was  persuaded  that,  by 
openly  siding  with  Madeleine  and  her  aunt,  he  could  save 
them  from  De  Clameran's  clutches.  Having  fully  resolved 
upon  this  course,  he  wrote  a  note  to  Madame  Fauvel  asking 
for  an  interview.  The  poor  woman  hastened  to  Vesinet 
convinced  that  some  new  misfortune  was  in  store  for  her. 
Her  alarm  w-as  groundless.  She  found  Raoul  more  tender 
and  affectionate  than  he  had  ever  been.  He  saw  the  ne- 
cessity of  re-assuring  her,  and  winning  his  old  place  in 
her  forgiving  heart,  before  making  his  disclosures.  He 
succeeded.  The  poor  lady  had  a  smiling  and  happy  look 
as  she  sat  in  an  arm-chair,  with  Raoul  kneeling  beside  her. 

"  I  have  distressed  you  too  long,  my  dear  mother,"  he 
said  in  his  softest  tones ;  "  but  I  repent  sincerely ;  now 
listen  to  me." 

He  had  not  time  to  say  more ;  the  door  was  violently 
thrown  open,  and  Raoul,  springing  to  his  feet,  was  con- 
fronted by  M.  Fauvel.  The  banker  had  a  revolver  in  his 
hand,  and  was  ghastly  pale.  It  was  evident  that  he  was 
making  superhuman  efforts  to  remain  calm,  like  a  judge 
whose  duty  it  is  to  justly  punish  crime. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed  v.'ith  a  horrible  laugh,  *'  you  look 
surprised.  You  did  not  expect  me  ?  You  thought  that 
23 


354  l^ILE  NO.  113 

my    imbecile    credulity    assured   you   an   eternal   impa 
nity ! " 

Raoul  had  the  courage  to  place  himself  before  Madame 
Fauvel,  and  to  stand  prepared  to  receive  the  expected  bul« 
let. 

"  I  assure  you,  uncle,"  he  began. 

"  Enough  !  "  interrupted  the  banker  with  an  angry  gest- 
ure, "  let  me  hear  no  more  infamous  falsehoods  !  End 
this  odious  comedy,  of  which  I  am  no  longer  the  dujoe." 

"  I  swear  to  you — " 

"  Spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  denying  anything.  Do 
you  not  see  that  I  know  all.  I  know  who  pawned  my 
wife's  diamonds.  I  know  who  committed  the  robbery  for 
which  an  innocent  man  was  arrested  and  imprisoned !  " 

Madame  Fauvel,  white  with  terror,  fell  upon  her  knees. 
At  last  it  had  come — the  dreadful  day  had  come.  Vainly 
had  she  added  falsehood  to  falsehood  ;  vainly  had  she  sacri- 
ficed herself  and  others  :  all  was  discovered.  She  saw  that 
she  was  lost,  and  wringing  her  hands,  with  her  face  bathed 
in  tears,  she  moaned  :  "  Pardon,  Andre  !  I  beg  you,  for- 
give me ! " 

At  these  heart-broken  tones,  the  banker  shook  like  a 
leaf.  This  voice  brought  before  him  the  twenty  years  of 
happiness  which  he  had  owed  to  this  woman,  who  had  al- 
ways been  the  mistress  of  his  heart,  whose  slightest  wish 
had  been  his  law,  and  who,  by  a  smile  or  a  frown,  could 
make  him  the  happiest  or  the  most  miserable  of  men. 
Could  this  v.Tetched  woman  crouching  at  his  feet  be  his 
beloved  Valentine,  the  pure,  innocent  girl  whom  he  had 
found  secluded  in  the  chateau  of  La  Verberie  ?  Could 
this  be  the  cherished  wife  whom  he  had  worshipped  for  so 
many  years  ?  In  the  memor}-  of  his  lost  happiness  never  to 
return,  he  seemed  to  forget  the  present,  and  was  almost 
melted  to  forgiveness. 

*'  Unhappy  woman,"  he  murmured,  "  unhappy  woman  ! 
What  had  I  done  that  you  should  thus  deceive  me  ?  Ah, 
my  only  fault  was  loving  you  too  deeply,  and  letting  you 
see  it.  One  wearies  of  everything  in  this  world,  even 
happiness.  Did  pure  domestic  joys  pall  upon  you,  and 
weary  you,  driving  you  to  seek  the  excitement  of  sinful 
passion  ?  Were  you  so  tired  of  the  atmosphere  of 
respect  and  affection  which  surrounded  you,  that  you  must 
needs  risk  your  honor  and  mine  by  bravmg  public  opinion? 


FILE  NO.  £13  355 

Oh,  iato  what  an  abyss  you  have  fallen,  Valentine !  If 
you  were  weaned  by  my  constant  devotion,  had  the  thought 
of  your  children  no  power  to  restrain  your  evil  passions  ?  " 

M.  Fauvel  spoke  slowly,  with  painful  effort,  as  if  each 
word  choked  him.  Raoul,  who  listened  with  attention, 
saw  that  if  the  banker  knew  some  things,  he  certainly  did 
not  know  all.  He  saw  that  erroneous  information  had 
misled  the  unhappy  man„and  that  he  was  a  victim  of  false 
appearances.  He  determined  to  convince  him  of  the  mis- 
take under  which  he  was  laboring. 

"  Sir,"  he  began,  "  will  you  consent  to  listen — " 

But  the  sound  of  Raoul's  voice  was  sufficient  to  break 
the  charm.  "  Silence  ! "  cried  the  banker  with  an  angry 
oath ;  "  silence  !  " 

For  some  moments  nothing  was  heard  but  the  sobs  of 
Madame  Fauvel. 

"  I  came  here,"  continued  the  banker,  "  with  the  inten- 
tion of  surprising  and  killing  you  both.  I  have  surprised 
you,  but — my  courage,  yes  my  courage  fails  me — I  cannot 
kill  an  unarmed  man." 

Raoul  once  more  tried  to  speak. 

"  Let  me  finish !  "  interrupted  M.  Fauvel.  "  Your  life 
is  in  my  hands ;  the  law  excuses  the  vengeance  of  an  out- 
raged husband,  but  I  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  it.  I 
see  on  your  mantle-piece  a  revolver  similar  t£)  mine  ;  take 
it,  and  defend  yourself." 

"  Never ! " 

"  Defend  yourself !  "  cried  the  banker  raising  his  weapon, 
"  if  you  do  not — " 

Seeing  the  barrel  of  M.  Fauvel's  revolver  close  to  his 
breast,  Raoul  in  self-defence  seized  his  own  and  prepared 
to  fire. 

"  Stand  in  that  corner  of  the  room,  and  I  will  stand  in 
this,"  continued  the  banker ;  "  and  when  the  clock  strikes, 
which  will  be  in  a  few  seconds,  we  will  both  fire  together." 

They  took  the  places  designated,  and  stood  perfectly 
still.  But  the  horror  of  the  scene  was  too  much  for 
Madame  Fauvel  to  witness  it  any  longer  witnout  interpos- 
ing. She  understood  but  one  thing :  her  son  and  her 
husband  were  about  to  kill  each  other  before  her  eyes. 
Fright  and  horror  gave  her  strength  to  rise  and  rush  be* 
tween  the  two  men. 

**  For  God's  sake,  have  mercy,  Andre' ! "  she  cried,  turn* 


356  FILE  NO.  113. 

ing  to  her  husband  and  wringing  her  hands  with  anguish, 
"  let  me  tell  you  everything ;  don't  kill  him.'' 

M.  Fauvel  mistook  this  burst  of  maternal  love,  for  the 
pleadings  of  an  adulterous  wife  defending  her  lover.  He 
roughly  seized  his  wife  by  the  arm,  and  thrust  her  aside : 
"  Get  out  of  the  way  !  "  he  cried. 

But  she  would  not  be  repulsed ;  rushing  up  to  Raoul, 
she  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  said  to  her  husband : 
*'  Kill  me,  and  me  alone ;  for  I  alone  am  guilty." 

At  these  word's  M.  Fauvel's  rage  knew  no  bounds,  he 
deliberately  took  aim  at  the  guilty  pair,  and  fired.  As 
neither  Raoul  nor  Madame  Fauvel  fell,  the  banker  fired  a 
second  time  ;  then  a  third.  He  was  preparing  for  a  fourth 
shot,  when  a  man  rushed  into  the  room,  snatched  the  re- 
volver from  the  banker's  hand,  and,  throwing  him  on  the 
sofa  ran  towards  Madame  Fauvel.  This  man  was  M. 
Verduret,  who  had  been  warned  by  Cavaillon,  but  who  did 
not  know  that  Nina  had  withdrawn  the  charges  from  M. 
Fauvel's  weapon. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  she  is  unhurt." 

But  the  banker  had  already  regained  his  feet.  "  Leave 
me  alone,"  he  cried  struggling  to  get  free,  "  I  will  have 
vengeance  !  " 

M.  Verduret  seized  his  wrists  in  a  vice-like  grasp,  and 
in  a  solemn  tone,  so  as  to  give  more  weight  to  his  words, 
he  said :  "  Thank  God  you  are  saved  from  committing  a 
terrible  crime  ;  the  anonymous  letter  deceived  you." 

M,  Fauvel  never  once  thought  of  asking  this  stranger 
who  he  was  and  where  he  came  from.  He  heard  and 
understood  but  one  fact :  the  anonymous  letter  had  lied. 
"  But  my  wife  confesses  her  guilt,"  he  stammered. 

*'  Yes,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  "  but  not  of  the  crime  you 
imagine.  Dp  you  know  who  that  man  is,  that  you  wish  to 
kill.>" 

"  Her  lover  I " 

"  No  :  her  son  ! " 

The  presence  of  this  well-informed  stranger,  seemed  to 
confound  Raoul  and  to  frighten  him  more  than  M.  Fauvel's 
threats  had  done.  Yet  he  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  say :  *'  It  is  the  truth  !  " 

The  banker  looked  wildly  from  Raoul  to  M.  Verduret ; 
then,  fastening  his  haggard  eyes  on  his  wife  exclaimed: 
"  What  you  tell  me  is  not  possible  !     Give  me  proofs  !  " 


FILE  NO.  113-  357 

"You  shall  have  proofs,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  ^but 
first  listen." 

And  rapidly,  with  his  wonderful  talent  for  exposition,  he 
related  the  principal  events  of  the  drama  he  had  discovered. 
The  true  state  of  the  case  was  terribly  distressing  to  M. 
Fauvel,  but  nothing  compared  with  what  he  had  suspected. 
His  throbbing,  yearning  heart  told  him  that  he  still  loved 
his  wife.  Why  should  he  punish  a  fault  committed  so  very 
long  ago,  and  atoned  for  by  twenty  years  of  devotion  and 
suffering?  For  some  moments  after  M.  Verduret  had 
finished  his  explanation,  M.  Fauvel  remained  silent.  So 
many  strange  events  had  happened,  following  each  other 
in  such  quick  succession,  and  culminating  in  the  shocking 
scene  which  had  just  taken  place,  that  M.  Fauvel  seemed 
to  be  too  bewildered  to  think  clearly.  If  his  heart  coun- 
selled pardon  and  forgetfulness,  wounded  pride  and  self- 
respect  demanded  vengeance.  If  Raoul,  the  baleful  wit- 
ness, the  living  proof  of  a  far-off  sin,  were  not  in  existence, 
M.  Fauvel  would  not  have  hesitated.  Gaston  de  Cla- 
meran  was  dead  ;  he  would  have  held  out  his  arms  to  his 
wife,  saying  :  "  Come  to  my  heart !  your  sacrifices  for  my 
honor  shall  be  your  absolution  ;  let  the  sad  past  be  for- 
gotten." But  the  sight  of  Raoul  froze  the  words  upon  his 
lips. 

"  So  this  is  your  son,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "  this  man, 
who  has  plundered  you  and  robbed  me  ! " 

Madame  Fauvel  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  in  reply  to 
these  reproachful  words. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  M.  Verduret,  "  madame  will  tell  you  that 
this  young  man  is  the  son  of  Gaston  de  Clameran  ;  she 
has  never  doubted  it.     But,  the  truth  is — " 

"  What ! " 

"  That,  in  order  to  swindle  her  more  easily,  he  has  per- 
petrated a  gross  imposture." 

During  the  last  few  minutes  Raoul  had  been  quietly 
creeping  towards  the  door  hoping  to  escape  while  no  one 
was  thinking  of  him.  But  M.  Verdutet,  who  anticipated 
his  intention,  was  watching  him  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  and  stopped  him  just  as  he  was  about  leaving  the 
room.  "  Not  so  fast„  my  pretty  youth,"  he  said,  dragging 
him  into  the  middle  of  the  apartment ;  "it  is  not  polite  to 
leave  us  so  unceremoniously.  Let  us  have  a  little  ex* 
planation  before  parting  !  " 


3S8  FILE  NO.  113. 

M.  Verduret's  jeering  words  and  mocking  manner  were 
a  revelation  for  Raoul.  "  The  merry-andrew  !  "  he  gasped 
starting  back  with  an  affrighted  look. 

"  The  same  my  friend,"  said  the  stout  man.  *'  Ah,  now 
that  you  recognize  me,  I  confess  that  the  merry-andrew 
and  myself  are  one  and  the  same ;  here  is  proof  of  it." 
And  turning  up  his  sleeve  he  showed  his  bare  arm.  "  I 
think  that  this  recent  wound  will  convince  you  of  my  iden- 
tity," he  continued.  *'  I  imagine  you  know  the  villain 
that  gave  me  this  little  decoration,  that  night  I  was  walk- 
ing along  the  Rue  Bourdaloue.  That  being  the  case,  you 
know,  I  have  a  slight  claim  upon  you,  and  shall  expect 
you  to  relate  to  us  your  little  story."  But  Raoul  was  so 
terrified  that  he  could  not  utter  a  word.  "  Your  modesty 
prevents  your  speaking,"  said  M.  Verduret.  "  Bravo  ! 
modesty  belongs  to  talent,  and  for  one  of  your  age  you 
certainly  have  displayed  a  talent  for  knavery." 

M.  Fauvel  listened  without  understanding  a  word  of 
what  was  said.  "  Into  what  abyss  of  shame  have  we 
fallen  !  "  he  groaned. 

"Re-assure  yourself,  sir,"  replied  M.  Verduret  in  a 
serious  tone.  "  After  what  I  have  been  constrained  to 
tell  you,  what  remains  to  be  said  is  a  mere  trifle.  This 
is  the  end  of  the  story.  On  leaving  Mihonne,  who  had 
given  him  a  full  account  of  the  misfortunes  of  Made- 
moiselle Valentine  de  La  Verberie,  De  Clameran  hastened 
to  London.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  farmer's 
wife  to  whom  the  old  countess  had  intrusted  Gaston's  son. 
But  here  an  unexpected  disappointment  greeted  him.  He 
learned  that  the  child,  who  was  registered  on  the  parish 
books  as  Raoul- Valentin  Wilson,  had  died  of  the  croup 
when  eighteen  months  old." 

Raoul  tried  to  protest.  "  Did  any  one  dare  say  that  ?  " 
he  commenced. 

"  It  was  not  only  stated,  but  proved,  my  pretty  youth,** 
replied  M.  Verduret.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  am  a  man  to 
trust  to  mere  gossip  ;  do  you  ?  "  He  drew  from  his  pocket 
several  stamped  documents,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 
*'  These  are  the  declarations  of  the  nurse,  her  husband, 
and  four  witnesses.  Here  is  an  extract  from  the  registry 
of  births  \  this  is  a  certificate  of  registry  of  death ;  and 
all  these  are  authenticated  at  the  French  Embassy.  Now 
arQ  you  satisfied,  young  man  ?  " 


FILE  NO.  113.  3^ 

"  What  next  ?  "  inquired  M.  Fauvel. 

"  De  Clameran,"  replied  M.  Verdiiret,  "finding  that 
the  child  was  dead,  supposed  that  he  could,  in  spite  of  this 
disappointment,  obtain  money  from  Madame  Fauvel ;  he 
was  mistaken.  His  first  attempt  failed.  Having  an  in- 
ventive turn  of  mind,  he  determined  that  the  child  should 
come  to  life  again.  Among  his  large  circle  of  rascally 
aquaintance,  he  selected  the  young  fellow  who  stands  be- 
fore you." 

Madame  Fauvel  was  in  a  pitiable  state.  And  yet  she 
began  to  feel  a  ray  of  hope  ;  her  acute  anxiety  had  so  long 
tortured  her,  that  the  truth  was  a  relief.  "  Can  this  be 
possible  "i  "  she  murmured,  "  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  What !  "  cried  the  banker  :  "  can  an  infamous  plot  like 
this  be  planned  in  the  present  day  ? " 

"  All  this  is  false  !  "  said  Raoul  boldly. 

M.  Verduret  turned  to  Raoul,  and,  bowing  with  iron- 
ical respect,  said  :  "  You  desire  proofs,  sir,  do  you  .-*  You 
shall  certainly  have  convincing  ones.  I  have  just  left  a 
friend  of  mine,  M.  Palot,  who  brought  me  valuable  in- 
formation from  London.  Now,  my  young  gentleman,  I 
will  tell  you  the  little  story  he  told  me,  and  then  you  can 
give  your  opinion  of  it.  In  1847  Lord  Murray,  a  wealthy 
and  generous  nobleman,  had  a  jockey  named  Spencer,  of 
whom  he  was  very  fond.  At  the  Epsom  races  this  jockey 
was  thrown  from  his  horse,  and  killed.  Lord  Murray 
grieved  over  the  loss  of  his  favorite,  and  having  no  chil- 
dren of  his  own,  declared  his  intention  of  adopting  Spencer's 
son,  who  was  then  but  four  years  old.  Thus  James  Spen- 
cer was  brought  up  in  affluence,  as  heir  to  the  immense 
wealth  of  the  noble  lord.  He  was  a  handsome,  intelli- 
gent boy,  and  gave  satisfaction  to  his  protector  until  he 
was  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  he  became  intimate  with 
a  worthless  set  of  people,  and  w^ent  to  the  bad.  Lord 
Murray,  who  was  very  indulgent,  pardoned  many  grave 
faults  ;  but  one  line  morning  he  discovered  that  his  adopted 
son  had  been  imitating  his  signature  upon  some  checks. 
He  indignantly  dismissed  him  from  his  house,  and  told  him 
never  to  show  his  face  there  again.  James  Spencer  had 
been  living  in  London  about  four  years,  managing  to  sup- 
port himself  by  gambling  and  swindling,  when  he  met 
De  (!lameran,  who  offered  him  twenty-five  thousand  francs 


360  FILE  NO.  113. 

to  play  a  part  in  a  little  comedy  which  he  had  himself 
arranged." 

"You  are  a  detective!"  interrupted  Raoul,  not  caring 
to  hear  any  more. 

The  stout  man  smiled  blandly. 

"At  present,"  he  replied,  "I  am  merely  Prosper  Ber- 
tomy's  friend.  It  depends  entirely  upon  yourself,  as  to 
which  character  I  shall  hereafter  appear  in." 

"  What  do  you  require  me  to  do  1  " 

"  Where  are  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs 
which  you  have  stolen  ?  " 

The  young  rascal  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  said  : 
"The  money  is  here." 

"  Very  good.  This  frankness  will  be  of  service  to  you. 
I  know  that  the  money  is  in  this  room,  and  also  that  it  is  at 
the  bottom  of  that  cupboard.     Do  you  intend  to  refund  it .?  " 

Raoul  saw  that  his  game  was  lost.  He  tremblingly  went 
to  the  cupboard,  and  pulled  out  several  rolls  of  bank-notes, 
and  an  enormous  package  of  pawnbroker's  tickets. 

"Very  well  done,"  said  M.  Verduret,  as  he  carefully 
examined  the  money  and  papers  :  "  this  is  the  most  sensi- 
ble step  you  ever  took." 

Raoul  relied  on  this  moment,  when  everybody's  atten- 
tion would  be  absorbed  by  the  money,  to  make  his  escape. 
He  crept  towards  the  door,  gently  opened  it,  slipped  out, 
and  locked  it,  for  the  key  was  on  the  outside. 

"  He  has  escaped  !  "  cried  M.  Fauvel. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  without  even  look- 
ing up :  "I  thought  he  would  have  sense  enough  to  do 
that." 

"  But  is  he  to  go  unpunished  ? " 

"  My  dear  sir,  would  you  have  this  affair  become  a  pub- 
lic scandal  ?  Do  you  wish  your  wife's  name  to  be  brought 
into  a  case  of  this  nature  at  the  police  court  .-* " 

"Oh!  sir." 

"  Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  is  to  let  the  rascal 
go.  Here  are  receipts  for  all  the  articles  which  he  has 
pawned,  so  that  we  should  consider  ourselves  fortunate. 
He  has  kept  fifty  thousand  francs,  but  that  is  all  the  bet- 
ter for  you.  That  sum  will  enable  him  to  leave  France, 
and  we  shall  never  see  him  again." 

Like  every  one  else,  M.  Fauvel  yielded  to  M.  Verdu- 
ret's  ascendency.    Gradually  he  had  awakened  to  the  trud 


FILE  NO.  113.  361 

state  of  affairs ;  prospective  happiness  no  longer  seemed 
impossible,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  indebted  to  the  man 
before  him  for  more  than  life.  With  earnest  gratitude 
he  seized  M.  Verduret's  hand  as  if  to  carry  it  to  his  lips, 
and  said  in  broken  tones  :  "  Oh,  sir  !  how  can  I  ever  find 
words  to  express  how  deeply  I  appreciate  your  kindness  ? 
How  can  I  ever  repay  the  great  service  you  have  rendered 
me  ? " 

M.  Verduret  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  replied  ;  "  If 
you  consider  yourself  under  any  obligations  to  me,  sir,  I 
have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  A  favor !  you !  ask  of  me  1  Speak,  sir,  you  have  but  to 
name  it.     My  fortune  and  my  life  are  at  your  disposal." 

"  I  will  not  hesitate,  then,  to  explain  myself.  I  am 
Prosper's  friend.  You  can  restore  him  to  his  former  hon- 
orable position.  You  can  do  so  much  for  him,  sir !  he 
loves  Mademoiselle  Madeleine — " 

"  Madeleine  shall  be  his  wife,  sir,"  interrupted  the  bank- 
er :  "I  give  you  my  word.  And  I  will  so  publicly  exoner- 
ate him,  that  not  a  shadow  of  suspicion  will  ever  rest  upon 
his  name." 

The  stout  man  quietly  took  up  his  hat  and  cane,  as  if  he 
had  been  paying  an  ordinary  call.  "  You  will  excuse  my 
importunmg  you,'*  said  he,  "but  INIadame  Fauvel — " 
"  Andre  "  murmured  the  wretched  woman,  "  Andre' !  " 
The  banker  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  following  the 
impulse  of  his  heart,  ran  to  his  wife,  and,  clasping  her  in 
his  arms,  said  tenderly  :  '  No,  I  will  not  be  foolish  enough 
to  struggle  against  my  heart,  I  do  not  pardon,  Valentine : 
I  forget ;  I  forget  all !  " 

M.  Verduret  had  nothing  more  to  do  at  Vesinet.  With- 
out taking  leave  of  the  banker,  he  quietly  left  the  room, 
and,  jumping  into  his  cab,  ordered  the  driver  to  return 
to  Paris,  and  drive  to  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  His  mind  was  filled  with  anxiety.  He  knew 
that  Raou!  would  give  him  no  more  trouble ;  the  young 
rogue  was  probably  far  off  by  that  time.  But  De  Clame- 
ran  should  not  escape  unpunished  ;  and  how  this  punish- 
ment could  be  brought  about  without  compromising  Ma- 
dame Fauvel  was  the  problem  to  be  solved.  M.  Verduret 
thought  over  various  expedients,  but  not  one  could  be  ap- 
plied to  the  present  circumstances.  After  long  thought  he 
decided  that  an  accusation  of  poisoning  must  be  made  at 


362  FILE  NO.  113. 

Oloron.  He  would  go  there  and  work  upon  "  public  opin' 
ion,"  so  that,  to  satisfy  the  townspeople,  the  authorities 
would  order  a  post-mortem  examination  of  Gaston's  body. 
But  this  mode  of  proceeding  required  time ;  and  De  Cla- 
meran  would  certainly  escape  before  long.  He  was  be- 
moaning his  inability  to  come  to  a  satisfactory  decision, 
when  the  cab  stopped  in  front  of  the  Hotel  du  Louvre. 
It  was  almost  dark.  A  crowd  of  people  was  collected 
round  about  the  entrance,  eagerly  discussing  some  exciting 
event  which  seemed  to  have  just  taken  place. 

"  What  has  happened  1  "  asked  M.  Verduret  of  one  of  the 
crowd. 

"  The  strangest  thing  you  have  ever  heard  of,"  replied 
the  man  ;  "  yes,  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  He  first  ap- 
peared  at  that  seventh-story  window ;  he  was  only  half- 
dressed.  Some  men  tried  to  seize  him ;  but,  bah !  with 
the  agility  of  a  squirrel,  he  jumped  gut  upon  the  roof, 
shrieking,  'Murder!  murder!'  The  recklessness  of  his 
conduct  led  me  to  suppose — "  The  gossip  stopped  short  in 
his  narrative,  very  much  surprised  and  vexed  ;  his  ques- 
tioner had  vanished. 

"  If  it  should  be  De  Clameran  ! "  thought  M.  Verduret ; 
*'  if  terror  has  deranged  that  brain,  so  capable  of  working 
out  great  crimes  !  " 

While  thus  talking  to  himself,  he  elbowed  his  way  into 
the  court-yard  of  the  hotel.  At  the  foot  of  the  principal 
staircase  he  found  M.  Fanferlot  and  three  peculiar  looking 
individuals  waiting  together. 

"  Well !  "  cried  M.  Verduret,  "  what  is  the  matter .?  " 

With  laudable  precision,  the  four  men  stood  at  attention. 
"  The  chief !  "  said  they. 

"  Come  !"  said  the  stout  man  with  an  oath.  "What 
has  happened  ? " 

"  This  is  what  has  happened,  sir,"  said  Fanferlot  deject- 
edlv.  "  I  am  doomed  to  ill  luck.  You  see  how  it  is :  this 
is  the  only  chance  I  ever  had  of  working  out  a  beautiful 
case,  and  puff !  my  criminal  goes  and  sells  me." 

"  Then  it  is  De  Clameran  who — " 

"  Of  course  it  is.  When  the  rascal  saw  me  this  morn- 
ing, he  scampered  off  like  a  hare.  You  should  have  seen 
him  run  ,  I  thought  he  would  never  stop  this  side  of  Ivry  : 
but  not  at  all.  On  reaching  the  Boulevard  des  Ecoles,  a 
sudden  idea  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  made  a  bee-line 


FILE  NO.  113.  363 

for  his  hotel ;  I  suppose,  to  secure  his  pile  of  money.  Di- 
rectly he  gets  here,  what  does  he  see  ?  these  three  friends 
of  mine.  The  sight  of  these  gentlemen  had  the  effect  of 
a  sunstroke  upon  him ;  he  went  raving  mad  on  the 
spot." 

"  Where  is  he  now?  " 

"  At  the  Pre'fecture,  I  suppose.  Some  policemen  hand- 
cuffed him,  and  drove  off  wit!:  aim  .n  a  j-._ 

"  Come  with  me." 

M.  Verduret  and  Fanfenc  ound  De  Clameran  in  one 
cf  the  private  cells  reserved  cr  dangerous  prisoners.  He 
had  on  a  strait-waistcoat,  and  was  struggling  violently 
against  three  men,  who  were  striving  to  hold  him,  while  a 
physician  tried  to  force  him  to  swallow  a  potion. 

"  Help  !  "  he  shrieked,  "  help,  for  God's  sake  !  Do  you 
not  see  my  brother  coming  after  me  1  Look !  he  wants 
to  poison  me  !  " 

M.  Verduret  took  the  physician  aside,  and  asked  him  a 
few  questions. 

"  The  wretched  man  is  in  a  hopeless  state,"  replied  the 
doctor  ;  "  this  species  of  insanity  is  incurable.  He  thinks 
some  one  is  trying  to  poison  him,  and  nothing  will  persuade 
him  to  eat  or  drink  anything;  he  will  die  of  starvation, 
after  having  suffered  all  the  tortures  of  poison." 

M.  Verduret  shuddered  as  he  left  the  Prefecture. 
"Madame  Fauvel  is  saved,"  he  murmured,  "since  God 
has  himself  punished  De  Clameran  !  " 

"  That  doesn't  help  me  in  the  least,"  grumbled  Fanferlot. 
"The  idea  of  all  my  trouble  and  labor  ending  in  this 
way  !  " 

"  True,"  replied  M.  Verduret,  "  the  File  No.  1 13  will  never 
leave  its  portfolio.  But  console  yourself  ;  before  the  end 
of  the  month  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  what  you  have  lost  in  fame  you  will  gain  in  gold." 


XXV. 

One  morning  some  days  later,  M.  Lecoq — the  official 

Lecoq,  who  resembles  the  head  of  a  department — was  walk- 
ing up  and  down  his  private  office,  looking  at  the  clock  at; 


364  FILE  NO.  113. 

every  moment.     At  last,  a  bell  rang,  and  the  faithful  Jan- 
ouille  ushered  in  Madame  Nina  and  Prosper  Bertomy. 

"  Ah,"  said  M.  Lecoq,  "  you  are  punctual,  my  fond 
lovers  ;  that  is  well." 

"  We  are  not  lovers,  sir,"  replied  Madame  Gipsy.  "  Only 
M.  Verduret's  express  orders  have  brought  us  together 
here  to  meet  him." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  celebrated  detective;  "then  be 
good  enough  to  wait  a  few  minutes  :  I  will  tell  him  you 
are  here." 

During  the  quarter  of  an  hour  that  Nina  and  Prosper  re- 
mained alone  together,  they  did  not  exchange  a  word. 
Finally  a  door  opened,  and  M.  Verduret  appeared. 

Nina  and  Prosper  eagerly  started  towards  him ;  but  he 
checked  them  by  one  of  those  looks  which  no  one  ever 
dared  resist.  "You  have  come,"  he  said  severely,  "to 
hear  the  secret  of  my  conduct.  I  have  promised,  and  will 
keep  my  word,  however  painful  it  may  be  to  my  feelings- 
Listen,  then.  My  best  friend  is  a  loyal,  honest  fellow, 
named  Caldas.  Eighteen  months  ago  this  friend  was  the 
happiest  of  men.  Infatuated  by  a  woman,  he  lived  for 
her  alone,  and,  fool  that  he  was,  imagined  that  as  she 
owed  all  to  him,  she  loved  him." 

"  Yes !  '*  cried  Nina,  "  yes,  she  loved  him  !  " 

'^  So  be  it.  She  loved  him  so  much,  that  one  line  night 
she  went  off  with  another  man.  In  his  first  moments  of 
despair,  Caldas  wished  to  kill  himself.  Then  he  reflected 
that  it  would  be  wiser  to  live,  and  avenge  himself." 

"  But  then — "  faltered  Prosper. 

"  Then  Caldas  avenged  himself  in  his  own  way.  He 
made  the  woman  who  deceived  him  recognize  his  immense 
superiority  over  his  rival.  Weak,  timid,  and  without  in- 
telligence, the  latter  was  disgraced  and  falling  into  the 
abyss,  when  Caldas's  powerful  hand  saved  him.  For  you 
have  understood,  have  you  not  ?  The  woman  is  Nina ; 
the  seducer  is  yourself  ;  and  Caldas  is — " 

With  a  quick,  dexterous  movement,  he  threw  off  his  wig 
and  whiskers,  and  stood  before  them  the  real,  intelligent 
and  proud  Lecoq. 

"  Caldas  !  "  cried  Nina. 

"  No,  not  Caldas,  nor  Verduret  either,  but  Lecoq,  the 
detective ! " 

There  was  a  moment  of  astonished  silence^  then  Mi* 


FILE  NO.  113.  365 

Le€cq  turned  to  Prosper  and  said  :  "  It  is  not  to  me  alone 
that  you  owe  your  salvation.  A  noble  girl  in  confiding  in 
me  rendered  my  task  easy.  I  mean  Mademoiselle  Made- 
leine ;  I  promised  her  that  M.  Fauvel  should  never  know 
anything.  Your  letter  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  keep 
my  promise.     That  is  all." 

He  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Nina  stopped  him. 
'''  Caldas,"  she  murmured,  "  I  implore  you  to  have  pity  on 
me !  I  am  so  miserable  !  Ah,  if  you  only  knew !  Be 
forgiving  to  one  who  has  always  loved  you,  Caldas ! 
Listen — " 

Prosper  departed  from  M.  Lecoq's  office  alone. 


On  the  15th  of  last  month  was  celebrated,  at  the  church 
of  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  the  marriage  of  M,  Prosper 
Bertomy  and  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  Fauvel. 

The  banking-house  is  still  in  the  Rue  de  Provence  ; 
but  as  M.  Fauvel  has  determined  to  retire  from  business, 
and  live  in  the  country,  the  name  of  the  firm  has  beer 
changed,  and  is  now:  "  Prosper  Bertomy  &  Co.'' 


THE  END, 


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